If we get to claim that all of the glories of our children are a direct result of our stellar parenting, excellent genes and fantastic character traits, then it stands to reason that we have to claim the blame for their foibles and missteps. We can't have it both ways, pointing to their successes as ours and their failures as, I don't know, their father's or society's.
The children have been back to school a grand total of three days. It only took one, really, to send two of my three into a frantic feeding frenzy of angst. The problem is they don't see it as being a momentary state of being. As I said yesterday, they are both acting as if their current lot in life is their lot in life forever. They are, truly, like dogs with a hot spot, forced to wear a cone of shame and believing that the cone of shame will be upon them forever.
They are akin to the teenage girl, following being dumped by her jerk-off boyfriend, who listens only to the saddest songs, reads the most heart-breaking poetry, and focuses only on everything that is bad in her world and the world at large.
They are, in short, far too much like me. We are a family of cone heads, but not the cute Lorraine Newman sort.