Memories of Emily: The Power Brokers Part 5

Outcast

I did the absolute minimum to pass ninth grade but probably would have failed if the police incident occurred earlier in the school year. After the incident, my parents ceased all efforts to punish beyond verbal insults as the same business savvy that made them successful, insufferable humans trapped them in fears of legalities, and worse yet, public embarrassment. By June of 1985, my parents’ fear of issuing punishment resulted in flagrant disregard of curfew and many other rules. This behavior produced no retaliation beyond my stepfather shaking his head in frustration and my mother’s remarks. “I guess you’re just going to do whatever you want, now that you’re a full-fledged juvenile delinquent, Bo?” 

Thrusting a middle finger in the air accompanied by a fast “fuck you” provided the only necessary response. Losing fear of my parents didn’t derive from faith in police protection but recognition of my parents’ cowardice. All the rules refocused on them. You don’t pick on people weaker than you meant your son. Stand up for yourself meant standing up to them. Blood is not thicker than water.