Like father, like son. |
The Renegades I was pouring milk on my Cheerios when my dad walked into the kitchen. He had that look on his face. “You broke the rules!” “I thought that was a good thing, Dad.” “What in the world gave you that idea, Davey?” My father called himself a renegade. I looked up the definition of renegade on the Internet. It meant: one who does not play by the rules. I was confused. “I thought I’d change my curfew from 10 to 11 since I'm now sixteen. I figured that would be okay. Mom isn’t home, after all.” “You are not serious, young man!” “Just temporarily, just until Mom gets home.” My mother was on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for two weeks. She was anything but a renegade. “She calls every night at ten to make sure you’re home.” He did have a point. “You could say I was sleeping.” “You mean I should lie to your mother?” I knew he understood me. After all, he was a renegade and had been sixteen once. “Dad, please? Just until Mom gets back. Just two weeks, please?” “Son, I can’t, as much as I would like to. Trust is an important thing in a marriage. As much as I truly understand your need to be treated more like an adult, I must respect your mother’s rules.” He needed me to be grown-up enough to follow the household rules and not break them, no matter what. That was something I could understand. “So, what time will you be home tonight, Davey?” “Ten.” “That a boy.” I might push it to 10:30 and see what happens. We’ll see. |