Today is the second day of the teacher’s strike. To try to appease the back to school gods, I have posted another excerpt from my coming-of-age memoir. Everyone has a story about facing the generation gap with their parents: this one is mine. I hope you like it.
Coming down the third floor stairs, I hear Mom call to me from inside her bedroom. I have been looking for ways to make up with her, so I quickly poke my head into the room and find her sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Listen,” she says to me with no preamble. “I got no money for your school clothes this year.”
I look at her confused. Lack of money is always a complaint, but this comment seems uncomfortably targeted towards me.
“I’m buying for all the others,” Mom says. “You get your dad to take care of you.”
“Dad?” I ask, panic in my voice. I have been avoiding Dad since my failed attempt to steal the car radio from his van, but that’s not what alarms me.