The Fresh Prince Was Wrong

[I think we can safely agree that people have found their parents to be a pain in the ass for eons. After all, God wouldn't have had to command Moses and the Children of Israel to honor their mothers and their fathers if the Children were honoring without any prodding, right?]

[Holding myself up as no exception, and always inserting the caveat that I know how lucky I am that my own parents are a. alive, b. sane, c. still married, and d. still living in the pleasant and pleasantly situated house in which I type these words, I have let the phrase "pain the ass" drift thru my head, and perhaps across my lips a time or two.]

[(Could it be possible that they have done the same in reverse even once in 37-plus years about me, their own precious cherubic angel? Stop! You'll be asking me to believe in a female Speaker of the House of Representatives next!)]

[I did something foolish this week while housesitting for them. The vast majority of the time that I do foolish things, I don't tell my parents. After all, I am the aforementioned 37 and most of what I do doesn't concern them. Unfortunately, this latest entry in the multi-volume Encyclopedia of Huntington's Totally Avoidable Missteps did concern them, and there was simply no way for me to cover It up.]

[It's not that big a deal (I didn't wreck the car or empty the wine cellar or anything), but I was dreading mentioning It. Mom called from Alexandria, Va., this morning (mere feet from our president, apparently), and asked me how It had gone. I told her, and she gave me a simple, wise way to make It all better. No recriminations, no hysterical declarations of concern that my life is going down the toilet. Just clean It up and move on.]

[Parents are a pain in the ass, their kids are even more so, but the biggest pain in the ass? Holding on to dread, fear, and needless worry.]

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