Youth brings with it a certainty, a knowledge; unshakeable, of what it is that you are able to judge people about. You can judge them for their actions, you can judge them for their inactions, you can judge them for their words and for what they didn’t say, you can judge them for their body type or their looks or their fashion choice, their sexual partners or lack thereof, their choice in music. In fact, you can judge them for most anything and, if they are your parents, you can judge them for the perceived quality of their love, you can judge them for the experiences they denied you or provided for you, you can judge them for their partners and friends. You can judge it all. This is because you are so certain of the right way to do things, the right way to be; be seen, behave, be drunk, be stoned, be ‘in-love’, be single, be a human being.
Sigh. Now that I have that out of my system maybe I could offer some context to it all. Or maybe there is no need. Maybe every person reading this who has a late teen, early twenties offspring in their lives knows exactly what I was talking about. Maybe all the twenty-somethings reading this can look at their own relationship with their parents and recognise some of themselves in this. Maybe my offspring will read this one day and be appalled that her words and judgement had such an effect on me.
Maybe. But I have yet to see pigs fly. It’s a phenomena that my father and mother used to demand to see too. One that I’m fairly certain my father never saw before he died, and one that my mother hasn’t seen either, as she has not rung me to discuss it in detail, her emotional state because of it and how it might affect my siblings.
Ah, now I have injected a little humour into this I can see that I will recover. My resilience will reassert itself. I will deftly repel any whining, demanding and huffing with a quick swat of wit and a dash or reality.
I wish this heat would now go and leave us, just like the pup has promised to do (she has said she is moving, there has even been packing of the dreaded room). This heat drains me, leaves me powerless and lethargic. I’ve tried spraying water at the fan so that it can gently fall on me and cool me. Useless! I can not find a metaphor in that for my relationship with my mostly delightful pup (well, to other people, anyway) but it seemed fitting to insert it. I know! The heat and the pup – neither of them care about what their actions do to me and only one of them cares about what I do at all. This judgement thing is for the birds.