The Top 3 Times {My Mom Was Mad,} Not Disappointed

I’m not mad. Just… [dramatic pause, head shake, deadpan gaze into your eyes] …disappointed.

I know those are perhaps the most parent-y words in the English language, but I never heard them growing up. I can’t even think of a single time.

I mean, I was a good kid. I was like 11 before I cursed for the first time, which for a kid from New Jersey, is basically like waiting until marriage. I loved school and did all my homework. I was in student council and Girl Scouts and was a peer mediator. I wrote an Earth Day poem to the first President Bush that got my whole third grade class on local TV. I even made my sister’s lunch.

But I was also a little dirtbag rodentchild who didn’t listen.

I liked adventure. Running around with no shirt or shoes. Throwing snowballs and water balloons, and I definitely broke some windows in my day. I liked playing kickball in the street, in front of our weird robot mailwoman neighbor’s house, even though she hated it. I liked cutting through backyards when I wanted to jump on Erica’s trampoline, even though our infamous neighbor Farty Marty set up bootleg trip wires. I wore shorts every single day to school, and played outside even when the nasty lunch ladies told me it was too cold.

I was mostly harmless, but I didn’t like your stupid rules. I was doing my own thing.

And so, maybe your parents were not mad, just disappointed. But that wasn’t my problem. My mom was mad. Here’s why.

The Official Countdown.

Here are the top 3 times my mom was definitely mad, and not at all disappointed.

3) The Box Turtle Wrist Watch Incident

In second grade, I went hunting for box turtles in the woods behind my elementary school with my across-the-street neighbor Billy Togneri. We’d keep them for like a week, race them in my driveway to the delight of all the kids in our neighborhood, and then release them back into the woods. My mom lent me her watch so I would be on time when she came to pick us up. And then I took it off my wrist because it was uncomfortable, put it in the pocket of my off-brand jams shorts, and wouldn’t you know it? The watch fell out, never to be seen again. And then, of course, I was both late AND lost her watch.

MY MOM WAS MAD. VERY MAD.

2) The Walkman and a Web of Lies

In 5th grade, I went to the mall with Kim Johnson and bought a purple off-brand Walkman—a device explicitly prohibited in our house. I bought it impulsively, so I could listen to the cassette single for Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me,” hid it in a bag in my room, and then lied about buying it. And—special bonus round—when confronted, I lied about not knowing it was prohibited.

MY MOM WAS MAD. SUUUUPER MAD.

1) The Lazy Snow Shoveler with a Death Wish

The winter of my sophomore year of high school, I was 16 and had recently gotten my driver’s permit. As a former rodentchild adventurer, I truly enjoyed my imminent freedom. Well, one day, it snowed like 16 inches, so we had no school, and I wanted to go to a friend’s house. My mom, justly, made me shovel the driveway. I half-assed it, only shoveling enough room for the tires, and thought I’d be just such a super driver that I’d have no trouble navigating downhill in reverse, in the crooked ass tire treads I’d laid out. My mom made a joke about my shoddy work, and in all my teenage angst, I yelled at her, “I didn’t see YOUR ASS out here shoveling!”

MY MOM WAS MAD. ATOMIC MADNESS.

You know what I learned from each of these experiences?

A) Obviously, my mom was right.

Pretty much always. Especially the times I thought she was being soooo mean. (Hi Lady. Thanks for everything.)

But as I watch parents trying to be friends with their kids, trying to reason or negotiate with them, trying to make their little lives easy and conflict-free, I just watch those buggers clap-back and then keep doing the shit they were doing. They don’t even listen. Which brings me to my next point.

B) It’s OK to be angry. Like really really angry.

Passive aggressive “disappointment” is boring and heavy. My advice from watching a pro: Get a little angry.

You know when I listened? When someone let me know that it was serious. When they yelled at me. When there were consequences.

It’s OK to ground your little angel, confiscate a contraband Walkman, or take away driving privileges. You actually need to show those monsters who’s in charge, and guess what, parents, it’s you! If they call you mean and stomp away in a huff (or a light mist of tears), that probably means you did your job.

Consequences make you think the next time you want to be a little selfish brat. Maybe you’ll still do the thing, but at least you’ll think about it first. At least you’ll weigh the risks. At least you’ll know you’re on watch.

Besides, yelling is great! What a wonderful tool for commanding a room, invoking some fear, and letting out some pent up anger. You don’t have to whisper or remain calm all the time, moms and dads. As long as you’re not verbally abusing that little rascal, a little volume won’t hurt.

But who am I to make such pronouncements? Just the grown up version of a defiant little imp. And when it comes to modern day parenting, ironically, I’m not mad. Just disappointed.