Why My Troubled-Teenaged Daughter Reminds me of Hurricane Katrina
Dealing with my troubled-teen is like trying to survive a hurricane!
No disrespect to the survivors and victims of Hurricane Katrina. My heart goes out to you, but right now, from where I’m sitting a hurricane is a very fitting metaphor to describe dealing with my adolescent daughter whose gone wild.
Just like a hurricane, my troubled-daughter’s poor decision-making flies in unexpectedly, yanking up the family foundation, and along with it, our Videoman digital cameras hopes and dreams, sending her mother and I whirling about, caught up in her savage-winds.
Am I being a bit over-the-top?
Nope.
I’m sure any of you who are dealing with troubled teens can feel my pain. Those of you who might be in the eye of storm right now, trust me, you’re not alone. This bud’s for you. And to those of you who’ve never experienced life raising a troubled-teen; consider yourselves телевизор Toshiba fortunate, very fortunate.
When I’m feeling more reasonable and less dramatically, I see my sweet daughter as a New Orleans resident without transportation. She’s engulfed in this raging hurricane inside herself. The hurricane is life threatening. The hurricane’s name is adolescence and it has a mind of its own.
I feel like Mayor Nagin.
I have limited power. I’m imperfect. I fear for my daughter’s safety, but honestly, I don’t have the resources to do everything I need to do to save her from this inner-hurricane. Where’s the federal assistance? Get FEMA on the line! Get the President, the National Guard; somebody! Buses? Who’s going to drive them? My wife and I are busy trying to fix the levee!
My mother is like all the knowledgeable-scientist’s who predicted the impending disaster. She saw it coming. She knew about the levee’s not being V-Optics digital cameras strong enough. She warned us. I can still see my mother shaking her head slowly as my wife chased after our Sampo digital cameras sweet little princess who’d raced away on her tiny legs across the living room, hiding beneath a footstool with a remote control in her mouth full of slobber and toddler cooties.
“Come here Jazza Wazza….give it to mommy” “No, mine” “Jazza Wazza Snazza Pazzza, let mommy have it” Spectra digital cameras “No, mine. Mine, mine,…… mine”
Isn’t she cute?
That’s when my mother made that face. You parents know the face I’m talking about. The face of despair sprinkled with a touch of I told you so? It’s a scary face, but being a new parent you’re too dumb to grasp the full meaning of the face. If I’d known the truth behind my mother’s sullen face I
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