The Teenager: Starring The Boy

 

Once upon a time there was a baby born unto his parents. He was named The Boy. He looked like an angel with a head of blonde hair that grew long and shiny and beautiful. He had long dark lashes and bright blue eyes with the cutest button-nose.

The Boy exceeded all their expectations. He was talking before Dr. Spock said he would. He walked at 11 months and aptly learned how to take a video, place it in the VCR, watch it, rewind it and watch again before his parents woke up on an early Sunday morning, at just 2 years old.

He was sporty and funny and smiled from ear to ear almost every day. He was 15 months old when he had to share his parents with a new one. She was called The Beauty. The Beauty took after the boy, even though she sported a mullet much to her parents chagrin. She was a fair maiden with the smallest of chins and the brightest blue eyes and perfect pink lips. She too learned early on how to walk, talk and master 2 languages at a young 3 years old.

It was when The Beauty was a mere 2 and 1/2 years old and The Boy not much older that The Baby was born. Different was this child. Her hair was darker and her mother became ill. She learned early on how to fend for herself. The Boy was affectionate in the most aggressive way, so she was watched over more carefully but like her older siblings was fast on the move and ready to talk way before her peers. At ages 4, 3, and 1 they were brought to a new place to thrive. The Land Of Flowing Milk And Honey. The Baby’s hair changed to be flaxen like the others and they were smiled upon wherever they journeyed.

Alas, the children grew older in harmonious synchronicity and entertained themselves in the new foreign land. A year later however their lives were altered once more. It was then that their parents had a change of heart. Witnessing each of their personal characteristics there was to be an official name change. There was another fair-headed child brought into their lives. They became, The Boy, The Brain, The Beauty and The Baby. The Boy sang solos and won the hearts of many. The Brain was poised and praised for her thoughtfulness and modest demeanor. The Beauty was fawned over wherever she went for she was breathtaking and women yearned to touch her golden coils that winded thickly down her back . The Baby had cheeks that were plump and ripe for grabbing and as she grew that was all that remained for she was petite and dainty.

The Baby was smothered with kisses by The Boy and The Beauty, while The Brain observed all the time learning responsibility and gaining more wisdom. She acted with kindness and modesty in all her endeavors. The Boy taught himself to read and was gaining respect as a future academic. The Beauty was rambunctious and adventurous and was often found needing stitches for her daring activities. The Baby watched her older siblings and was a very quiet child that was in no hurry to move, to walk or to talk. They lived this way for almost a full five years when again the parents brought new life into their home.

So was born The Brother. The Boy was ecstatic. Another just like him. He wanted to teach him to walk, to run, to play ball, to read, to eat. There was nothing that The Boy wouldn’t do to help out The Brother. Until…The Brother wanted to play with his toys. Until, The Brother wanted to hug his brown bear. Until, The Brother wanted to drive his train or build his blocks or shoot the bad guy. Until his mother gave into The Brother because he was just so cute. The Brother got away with everything and life became unfair. The Boy was asked to be more responsible. The Boy was asked to act more maturely. The Boy was begged not to act so selfishly. The Boy was tired of the noise all his sisters would make.

The Boy grew taller and broader and when his voice became deep he used it to his advantage. He shared his every thought with anyone who was around him. He slammed doors and shouted. The Boy wanted to be treated like an adult yet cried at the unfairness of being asked to help out. The Boy complained about taking out the garbage. The Boy whined when he was being forced to clean up his room. The Boy disapproved of having to set the table. The Boy objected that he needed to shower every night.

The parents were weary. The Brain was sensitive. The Beauty was indifferent. The Baby was indignant. The Brother was antagonistic.

So on August 1, 2012 the mother decided it was time for a change. The Boy was officially to become The Teenager. A party was to be had. The memory of his birth came to the forefront of her mind and appropriately purchased an angel-food cake for when he was born that is what she had seen (in her morphined state), a blurry star-burst of flourescent rays shining behind her blonde angel. A festive Italian dinner was prepared from the depths of their finest freezer. While there was chanting “pizza, pizza”, the mother prepared the dessert created by her best friends, Ben & Jerry. With absolute giddiness the lights were no longer lit. The room was aglow with assorted colorful candles and the singing began. Powdered sugar sprayed everywhere as the Teenager blew out his candles. All cheered in sacchariferous [sak-uh-rif-er-uhs] delight.

A good time was had by all, the Teenager was happy and all was right on their hilltop that evening. From ancient times throughout the history of mankind we have learned that The Teenager will yell at will and be quite temperamental. The mother, also known as the peacemaker, was pleased to enter this phase with a smiling and pleasant child *even though at 10:45 pm, said child is still awake and invading her personal space (she smiles through gritted teeth).

The End

 

Advertisements

2 comments

  1. Mazel tov. I remember when my eldest became the Teenager. Being an accountant, I calculated how many continuous years I was going to be a Father of a teenager. As our youngest child had just turned 4, I think it turned out to be 16 straight years. We’re half way through now. Best of luck to you.

Tell Me What You Think...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s