My parents didn’t suit me, you know. By the age of 11 I couldn’t wait for them to go out so I could have the house to myself, and when I finally left home at 19 I was well ready for it. They fed and clothed me and weren’t abusive (well, that’s a moot point where my stepfather was concerned, but he wasn’t physically abusive and my mother was a very nice person.) They just didn’t suit me. And it wasn’t merely the usual teenage rebellion thing. Looking back on it now I realise that they’d never suited me because they hadn’t a clue who I really was. I don’t suppose they cared, and that’s the problem.
Monday, 10 July 2017
Being Shackled to Unsuitable Parents.
Today I was watching young parents walking past with their young children, and some of the parents were the sort I wouldn’t even want to live close to, much less share a house with. I thought of the children and how awful it must be to be trapped in a house with parents like that, and I wondered whether parents should make a conscious effort to be amenable to their children’s personality types. Or is feeding them and clothing them and not being abusive sufficient discharge of parental responsibilities?