Y’know, when my daughter was 17-ish, she said something startling to me. “Do you know how hard it is to rebel against you?”
When I was 17, I had no thoughts of rebelling against my folks. One single incident that I recall was when my brother, four years older than me, was married and had returned to our community with his wife. By that time I was 20 and home from college for the summer.
It was time for a revival at my dad’s church. This did not involve rolling around on the floor or speaking in tongues. It was, by our lights, entertaining and even fun. My Dad was something of a rebel himself. He played Jesus Christ, Superstar, in Sunday morning service. In terms of defiance, it seems laughable now but it was shocking then. The revival would include a nationally known chalk artist, who accompanied his talk with black light chalks and a soundtrack. He could cause a thunderstorm or the creation of the world with his skills.
But when Dad assumed we all would show up seven nights in a row for the revival, my brother and his wife and I balked. After a brief and emotional phone call, we decided we would attend the opening night of the revival and talk to Dad afterward. The talk was even more emotional. Nobody yelled but we dropped tears and confusion.
My point, I think, is that kids, regardless of their age, need something to rebel about to establish their own boundaries. Ours was extremely mild by modern standards. There were real wounds, which mended, and we felt awful but proud we had drawn our line in the sand. But none of us left unharmed.
I think now that we have to let our kids sever the apron strings. That’s how the world moves on and changes, for better or worse.
