I’m waiting up for my 16 year old – who said he’d be home between 12:30am and 1. At 1:20 I called him. "I’ll be there shortly, Dad." He’s with friends. Teenagers in cars. My grey hairs are getting grey hairs.
Why is it that kids don’t understand the worries of their parents? (And yes, I’m glad my mother doesn’t read this blog.) Probably because our love and concern gets expressed with loud voices and angry faces. I need to work on that. As I wait for the lights in the driveway and the sound of the front door opening.