By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
I was raised in an extremely strict household. Literally, children were to be seen and never heard. Children did not speak at the table, and so forth.
When my children entered the world, I vowed they would have the freedoms I never had. Freedom to explore their surroundings, to learn about themselves and to question authority, respectfully of course, when a task, request or command felt wrong. Not to just bow down to the “because I said so” mentality I grew up with, without explanation of why.
I’m sure most if not every parent who is reading this, is now rolling their eyes and have predicted the outcome of my very noble endeavors, correctly. I raised, unknowingly, naively even; iconoclast children. Rebel mongers. Rule breakers. Social outcasts.
Yet, I can not say I am sorry. My children know themselves, really know themselves. They hold their own in confrontations but are kind, gentle and compassionate with their partners; of whom they also hold their own or capitulate, depending on the issue.
To be honest, it was pure Satans Fire when they hit and went through their teenage years. I did not think I would survive it, but I did; and now I get to watch it play out all over once again as my daughter raises her extremely iconoclastic son.