What Hell Hath Wrought

“When you grow up and move away, we’ll visit for a spell
We’re proud of our dear children, we so want to wish them well.”

So went my frustrated mother’s opening salvo of the greatest diss track of all time. Her ungrateful brood had broken their last dish, spilled their last glass of kool aid and stuffed their shit in the closet while lying about cleaning their room for the last time without retribution. She was Maleficent and her grandchildren, the spindle.

But in her desperation, my mother turned to an evil that she didn’t understand.

Teenagers.

I was the worst of them. I was sullen, impulsive, and believed that the sun rose when I did. For a time, my heart went out to my mother.

Until I was reminded that one crisp autumn day at the ripe age of 14, my mom said she wasn’t going to school — for the entirety of the ninth grade. When I look at my daughter, I remember myself at 17 informing my parents I was running away to be with a guy who went by the name Flipper to live in abandoned homes. Because YOLO.

I’m sure when my grams looked at my mom she remembered the time she didn’t clean the berries for the pie, or whatever the hell made you a badass in 1927. The point is, however horrible our teenagers are, there’s a good chance we’re getting nothing more than we deserve.

So accept your lot in life. Bask in it. Forget nothing. Because it makes the revenge exacted through your horrible teenage grandchildren that much sweeter.