Posts Filed Under A trip down memory lane

Maddison is eleven. Wait, don’t go anywhere, because this could totally relate to you. Presumably you were eleven once. And, I’m guessing, just like me, you were embarrassed by your parents at least once. Perhaps even mortifyingly so.

My mother was an absolute bandit for embarrassing me. She didn’t mean to of course, but well, when a massive generation gap meets limited budget, it was to a teenager, like social death.

Let me count the ways…. I guess the worst thing my mother ever did to me was cut my hair.  Short. Like a boy. In Year 6. Well technically I gave her the go ahead. See, she loved me with short hair while I on the other hand knew the only way to my first kiss and/or boyfriend was to not look like a dude. But she got me with the almighty dollar. She offered me fifty bucks if I would get my hair cut short. See, right there, that’s messed up. I mean, who does that? But being the clearly easily bought little tramp that I am, I accepted.

I took my Dolly Magazine down to the salon, showed the hairdresser a picture of the model with a short, yet stylish flicked hairdo and sat down waiting to be transformed. The result?  A brunette Ronald McDonald. Pretty much no one spoke to me at school for almost 5 months. Here’s a heads up:  Fifty bucks can only buy you so many packets of chicken Twisties to take away the pain.

Now they say clothes don’t maketh the man, but they almost certainly make the teenager raging her way through puberty. I am testament to that. See, back when I was around  14, I wanted labels. Those labels here on the Gold Coast were Cheetah and Oakely. There were a few other surf brands as well, but mainly those two. Sadly, even back then, over 20 years ago, a pair of Cheetah togs were $70. Oakley sunnies were over a hunghy. Yet, the fact that mum could not supply these made me feel undeservedly hard done by. So we improvised. Or I should say, she did. Rather than forking out for a pair of Cheetah Tracksuit pants to take away on my year ten camp, she Hobbytexed CHEETAH on my $7 Best and Less pair. Oh I was popular.

She also made a lot of my clothes. Here I am in a little number I would wear skating at Skaters Paradise even years later. Sometimes with a fetching flip skirt.

 

And the fact that they she was a few decades behind the fashion didn’t stop her from whipping up new matching twin sets on a constant basis. This, to a girl trying to forage her way in the very screwed up pecking order of early high school, caused issues.  Now of course I know she made these with love and with the best of intentions. In hindsight I do, but let’s face it, 14 year old girls can be complete moles.

And it appears as we get older, our parents don’t stop the rot. Phil’s dad, my now Father in law, embarrassed his son beyond belief the very first I met them. Now, Allan, Phil’s dad, is a lovely guy, so much so, he was super excited that his son was bringing home a “new” girl to meet them.  Clearly Phil had been just lovin and leavin em before that. He asked me upon entry if I’d like a drink. Now Phil’s parents do not drink. Like Ever. Yet at some point they’d been given a bottle of Baileys, so that was what was on offer. I accepted happily, loving not only a bit of Baileys but also the social lubrication. That’s when Allan poured the Baileys into his best glasswear and chunks fell out. See, at some point, probably at least two years prior, he’d added some Milk to the Baileys BOTTLE and then returned it to the abyss of their liquor cabinet. Ahh, I’ve loved his dad ever since.

So have I learnt anything from my childhood? Will I zip my lips or buy my children all the cool stuff so they fit in? Maybe, because I remember only too well how this stuff can pre-determine a kids coolness factor.

Mind you, I did find myself leaping out of the car this morning and pinning Maddies hair back for the school photos she had on later that day. I then may have proceeded to wet my finger with my own saliva and wipe Milo from her chin. Oh God. It’s started.

How did your parents embarrass you?

Apr
1st

It’s started.  Boys.

Maddison, aged 11, has been invited to attend a theme park with a 13 year old boy for his birthday.  Now this boy isn’t her boyfriend.  He’s her best friend’s boyfriend who has also been invited.   No, it’s the other two boys going that are also 13 that worry me a tad.

To be honest, 13 is the alarm bell age for me. It might be the whole “teen” element but I think it’s because I’m still young enough to remember that this is when shit started to get real at high school.  But Maddie isn’t at High School. Neither are these boys.  They’ve barely started year 7.

Now I’ve met these kids. They’ve got their hair so sharp it would cut you if you got too close.  Honest to God, they’d be using more Final Net than me in 1988, to keep those razor sharp ‘dos’ so helmet like.  They seem respectful, calling me Mrs Morley and looking me in the eye.  And granted, these are great signs, but I just don’t know if it’s a goer.

If I say no, I will be being my own mother who basically held the chastity belt key until I finished High School.  Bad move.  I went wild for a little bit there as a result but I remember only too well, this is the age of the first kiss.

My first kiss was revolting.  Re. Volt. Ing.  Some guy called David at a freaking barn dance.  What’s more telling,  the fact that of my own free will I was at a Barn Dance or that I was kissing a random stranger behind a shed?  He smelled like wet dog and his buck teeth hit my nose before making it to my mouth.  I was holding my breath, more than likely trying to block out the off cheese smell that was coming from his mouth.

When it was over, all I remember thinking was “thank God I’ve done it.  I’ve kissed a boy”.  So what he was jerk and told me my check shirt made me look like farmer (der dickhead, it’s a BARN DANCE), I’d locked lips, it could only get better.

I can happily say I and it, got better over time.  Not that I was a prolific pasher, but once I realised what all the fuss was about, David Cheesebreath became a thing of the past.

Funnily enough, the little guy that digs Maddie is also called David.  He’s the one that bought her a fake velvet rose and Ferrero Rochers on Valentine’s Day.  He’s also the one who’s started ignoring her in the past week.  Dead giveaway he’s into her.

So, I haven’t said yay or nay as yet.  It’s proving to be quite the discipline goldmine with many “If you don’t stop with the attitude, you won’t be going to Lachies birthday”.  Empty threats are my specialty.  But if this is going to be a first kiss situation, I’d really better think this through.

But to be honest, I’m 90% sure she’s going to be able to go.  Doesn’t mean I’m not going to dress up as Kenny Koala and inconspicuously follow her around all day…

Stick to the puppy dogs honey!
Mar
30th

I think she kept trying until she was in the most wonderful first position in the class. She’s probably the lead in the end of year performance.

The dizzying height of my ballet career was playing a brick in the Yellow Brick Road. I was too tall to be a munchkin.

How about you? We would love to hear about your highs and lows in the world of performing arts!

Love Kate

When I was a little girl, I had a pact with my mum. When a friend’s parents asked if I would like to stay for dinner, mum was to tell them that I wasn’t allowed.

My fear was broccoli-based. What if they served broccoli with dinner? What if they were the type of parent who thought kids should eat everything on their plate?

It was too terrible to contemplate. Best to avoid any broccoli related issues. Because what would they think of a girl who couldn’t, even in her best intentions of being well mannered and generally nice, cope with the vilest of food types? Not to mention the horrors of peas, brussel sprouts and other green villains.

Lucy, from my first Go Girl, ‘Surf’s Up’ has to face such demons. When she goes on holidays with her bestie, it’s a leap of faith into another family’s dinner plates. Not only that, but Lucy has to face the notion that she may not actually be as nice as she thinks. Nice girls don’t get jealous about their best friend’s being better surfers than they are, and getting put up into a higher surfing class. Do they?

That’s the thing. They do. We do. Even as adults, we have fears of certain things that we studiously avoid. Even as adults, we battle with our sense of what is the right way to feel. What is the right way to cope. How lovely to be able to explore such issues that fill the minds of little girls.

I’m on the hunt for a Go Girl for 47 year olds. Anyone got any suggestions?

Chrissie x