“Right now, you’re in a cozy, safe, car seat."
As my adolescent homestay reaches its close, my mother reminded me during one of her brynnalogues* that right now, “You can kind of lean your head to the side and pass out, but it’s not awkward, whereas without a car seat you would just fall over.”
I’m not sure if that last comment referred to my anticipated sobriety (or lack thereof) in college next semester, but this analogy got me to thinking, “Am I really in a car seat?”
As it stands, I am 18 years old, completing a progressively pointless high school career. I park in 2-hour slots and spend most of my time at 7/11, the bunker, and the gym. While my mom is generally permissive, I am reminded each weekend that my life is not quite my own when 11:30 pm rolls around and my Cinderella-clock-strikes-12-and-you’ll-turn-into-a-pumpkin-mouse anxiety kicks in.
That being said, as most of us seniors drive around in our cars, harming the environment with all sorts of carbon emissions (both fuel and fun related), we still have the vague sentiment that the people upstairs effect our decisions. I consider this last idea to be the proof that we are all leash babies in one way or another.
As much as it pains me to admit, I was once leashed. Not by my own parents, thank god. If you must know, my babysitter took me to a party at a house with a backyard on a cliff. When I was 2 years old. Clearly the sharpest knife in the drawer, she got nervous and bought me a leash so that if I did happen to become curious about the vast unknown I might be yanked back over the edge by a harness. Similar to the one I put on my 3.5 lb dog, Bear, so I can pull him out of harms way without choking him to death.
Leashes aside, it is important to recognize that no matter how hard you DGAF, there will always be a tug on your conscience. It’s there so you end up with more in life than an area code as a pronominal modifier.
* My mother’s name is Brynn. My brother coined this term sometime last Spring, as my mother likes to deliver her wisdom in drawn out speeches, often repeating herself with little room for interruption, akin to a monologue.
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