Generation gap

Generational conflicts were common, are common, and will be common forever probably. Music, clothing, the way we spend our time, or any other issue always will separate the parents and their children. Those matters are also a source of many arguments among members of the same family. It happens in my family as well as in other families all over the world.

My Mom and I always argue. We are both stubborn and never let go. This might be the one thing we have in common. I hate when she disapproves of my decisions about my clothing, friends, and all. I especially dislike when she starts her argument with “When I was your age….” It always drives me crazy. She can’t compare her adolescent life with mine. She says she never did the things I do at my age, which immediately states her forbiddance of that thing. “Times change, people change, Mom,” I always reply, and do that thing just to show her that I am right and she is not. Unfortunately, she is not always wrong. It is maybe because she is a parent and went through all the things I may go through. She only wants to protect me, so no harm can happen to me, but I couldn’t realize it then.

My Mom lived on a farm till she was eighteen years old. She had a lot of chores to do as the oldest sibling. She didn’t have much time to relax. Her leisure relied on playing with her friends with toys they made from scratch. I, on the contrary, live in a city. I have never had many errands, except for cleaning from time to time. My major duty is studying. I rest watching television. All of my toys were bought in a store, and they were first class quality also. Mom never understood why do I need this stuff, and I was too intractable to admit that. When I was younger I didn’t understand Mom at all. I always wondered why she was so cruel to me, because my friends had less strict parents.

Nowadays, I am more mature and able to comprehend her “cruelty.” I know she did this because she loves me and wants the best for her children. I came out good; I wish my children would be brought up as fine as I was. They would hate me as their oppressive mother, but I think this is the way it will be forever. I don’t know how problems between my mother and me would ever be resolved at the time they occurred. I think there is no other way; you just have to wait patiently. And I may even conclude that my Mom and I have even more in common then I previously thought.