Perhaps my so-called rebellion came when I saw the borders my parents had built around me. "So-called" as I have named it, because it came not as my getting tatoos over half my body, dying my hair shocking orange, or sticking safety pins in my cheeks (which seemed to be the running trend where I went to school). I followed their rules and I came home when I was told. I even made good grades, nothing below an A or a B on my report card.

Where is the rebellion, you ask? I was still not like my mother. Typical teenage cry. "You want me to be just like you!" And of course, no matter what I did in my life, good or bad, it was compared to what she would have done if she had been in my shoes.

As most children do, I learned not to give a fuck about what she said, for good or ill.