My personal forms of rebellion have failed throughout my life to take on a James Dean like persona. Rather, to get under the skin of my party-loving parents, I would fall asleep early on nights out. Forcing everyone to close down the festivities closer to 9 p.m. than midnight. In my teenage years, I required friends in my car to wear seat belts, switched from Rock music to bluegrass and to add insult injury began in college to attend church. Rebelling is hard work when your parents are children of the 1960s. I thought my rebellion climax took place when I announced at the age of 19 I was getting married. My parents lectured me on that one. “Why don’t you date around? Sow some wild oats? Go a little crazy in Mexico?” Not me, I strutted down that aisle, a rebel in a veil. As my 30th birthday approaches, I thought I was running out of rebellious ideas to shock my parents with – I already went to graduate school. But, then it came to me. I called my stepmom up and informed her that I have now begun to make my bed. That’s right. Take that! Shock does not begin to describe her reaction. It’s good to know that even though I’m aging I can still rebel with the best of them.
Rebelling at 30
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