You Have a Piano Tied to Your Ass?

If I had a nickel for every time we've told the teenagers about our own adventures as teens, I'd be a bazillionaire.  Yes, that's BAZILLION!  A real number, for sure.  When we were teenagers, we walked everywhere.  Want to hang with friends at the mall?  Walk.  Want to go to a party?  Walk.  Want to hit up WEM?  Bus.  For almost an hour.  If we wanted to go somewhere or do something, we needed to get there and back on our own, whether by foot or two-wheeler or 52-seater.

When we were teenagers, sometimes it rained.  And, sure, that may have made our travels a little more difficult, but I can honestly say some of my best walks were in the rain.  It's not like we were made of sugar.

These days, our kids expect us to be their on-call chauffeurs.  Regardless of time, place or situation, the phone will chirp and we're expected to jump.

Let me be perfectly clear, there is no way we would allow our kids to be in a unsafe situation, get rides with strangers, or be stranded.  We've also made it perfectly clear to them that we don't mind being the taxi, for the kids or their friends, provided it's something that is arranged in advance.  For example, don't ask to hang at the library or the mall after school and then call as we're putting kids to bed or have just walked back into the door and expect we'll be at your beck and call, dear teenager.

Which is pretty much what just happened with M.  She had arranged a few days ago to go study at a friend's after school and then watch the season premiere of a favourite show, telling Dad she'd be done by 9:00.  Not asking for a ride, mind you...just that she'd be finished around 9.  So a text comes in to Dad, who had just walked in the door from a meeting, asking to be picked up.  We're mid pow wow with A, are furiously putting kids to bed, and not expecting this request.  At all.  So the response seemed obvious: No.  You can walk home.  It's not that far.  (Maximum 20 minutes.)

A few minutes later, as I'm looking online for jobs for the aforementioned teenagers, I hear a car door slam out front.  I peek out the window and sure enough she has finagled a ride from one of the parents at that end.  Set aside the obvious embarrassment when our kid tells them her parents won't pick her up, and question her inability, at 16, to walk the short distance home.

And it's not even raining.

I'm sure you can hear me McHollering from there.