by SEAN POWER
Walking home from work last night, something inside me clicked. After spending six years trying to find ways to avoid speaking to my parents, all I wanted to do was get on the phone and talk to them.
It was almost like I thought of them as…. mates.
How things change.
Back when I was sixteen, I’m pretty sure I was convinced that my mum was a monster sent from outer space to make my life a living hell. I swear I once saw horns. My dad wasn’t much better.
I remember leaving a dictionary on the kitchen table, with a note encouraging my parents to learn some new words. I was sick of hearing “where, when, who and why”. I even highlighted the page on which “yes” was mentioned on.
What a bloody brat hey?
I also made a pretty unfavorable comparison between my Mum’s constant nagging and a plastic bag suffocating me once. Classy.
Her response? Remove my bedroom door from its hinges and hide the screws in the backyard.
My response? To set up the swag and sleep the night outside in the carport during Melbourne winter.
Game, set and match.
I would sneak in, sneak out and keep my door shut so that I didn’t have to enter into a detailed conversation about boring things like homework, healthy eating and exercise. Go away, I’d scream.