Like father, like son.
I was pouring milk on my Cheerios when my dad walked into the kitchen. He had that look on his face.
“You broke the rules!”
“I thought that was a good thing, Dad.”
“What in the world gave you that idea, Davey?”
My father called himself a renegade. I looked up the definition of renegade on the Internet. It meant: one who does not play by the rules.
I was confused.
“I thought I’d change my curfew from 10 to 11 since I'm now sixteen. I figured that would be okay. Mom isn’t home, after all.”
“You are not serious, young man!”
“Just temporarily, just until Mom gets home.”
My mother was on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for two weeks. She was anything but a renegade.
“She calls every night at ten to make sure you’re home.”
He did have a point.
“You could say I was sleeping.”
“You mean I should lie to your mother?”
I knew he understood me. After all, he was a renegade and had been sixteen once.
“Dad, please? Just until Mom gets back. Just two weeks, please?”
“Son, I can’t, as much as I would like to. Trust is an important thing in a marriage. As much as I truly understand your need to be treated more like an adult, I must respect your mother’s rules.”
He needed me to be grown-up enough to follow the household rules and not break them, no matter what. That was something I could understand.
“So, what time will you be home tonight, Davey?”
“That a boy.”
I might push it to 10:30 and see what happens. We’ll see.