Bringing up a Trog
First, I must explain, 'The Trog' is my 17 year old son, I call him 'The Troglodyte'....Trog for short. To be fair, he calls me 'The Dinosaur', so it kinda evens out in the name calling stakes.
The Trog is actually my second and youngest son, the older trog has left home and lives with his girlfriend, he sailed through his teenage years with only the occasional testosterone storm and emerged on the other side a fairly well balanced human being.
This, however, left me completely defenceless and unprepared for the force of nature that is my youngest son. He was fairly normal until his thirteenth birthday, doing what every other kid of his peer group did, climbing trees, (He loved climbing trees, the only setback being that he is scared of heights), digging holes in what is laughingly called my garden, pretending to be darth vader, etc.
Then, on that fateful day, his 13th birthday, he emerged from his bedroom, slightly dishevelled, and grunted at me as I sang happy birthday to him. This should have been my first warning but I missed it completely, probably because I was concentrating on trying to sing in key.
He dutifully unwrapped his presents, examined them before consigned them to a pile, whilst I whittered on about how it's great being a teenager, the best years are your teen years and generally (and conveniently) forgetting my own teenage years.
He took the games console, games and stereo I had purchased and disappeared back into his bedroom without so much as a 'thank you' or a kiss on the cheek. I was slightly miffed but put it down to the excitement of having nice new shiny things to play with.
About 5 hours later, he emerged, still in his pj's and demanded food via a series of grunts which took me a few minutes to understand. I dutifully made him his favourite sandwich (cheese, ham and tomato sauce) and he disappeared again. A couple of hours later, he re-emerged, grunted something that sounded like 'gnrfingoodlegirnk' and went out. I looked at my other half, who rolled his eyes and announced that my loving, funny, blonde haired, blue eyed child had turned into a teenager and that for the next 6 years, our lives would be 'interesting'.
This was the first day of bringing up a troglodyte, and compared with what was to follow, I reckon I got off quite lightly, a sort of foretaste if you will.
Having just written this, I now feel the strong urge to go and lie down, or have a brandy, whichever is closest, brandy I think.
I will post more adventures of living with a trog, as I can only do this in small increments, I hope in some small way it will help with any other parents out there who all of a sudden find themselves confronted by the not inconsiderable and incomprehesible task of caring for and feeding a teenaged troglodyte.
The Trog is actually my second and youngest son, the older trog has left home and lives with his girlfriend, he sailed through his teenage years with only the occasional testosterone storm and emerged on the other side a fairly well balanced human being.
This, however, left me completely defenceless and unprepared for the force of nature that is my youngest son. He was fairly normal until his thirteenth birthday, doing what every other kid of his peer group did, climbing trees, (He loved climbing trees, the only setback being that he is scared of heights), digging holes in what is laughingly called my garden, pretending to be darth vader, etc.
Then, on that fateful day, his 13th birthday, he emerged from his bedroom, slightly dishevelled, and grunted at me as I sang happy birthday to him. This should have been my first warning but I missed it completely, probably because I was concentrating on trying to sing in key.
He dutifully unwrapped his presents, examined them before consigned them to a pile, whilst I whittered on about how it's great being a teenager, the best years are your teen years and generally (and conveniently) forgetting my own teenage years.
He took the games console, games and stereo I had purchased and disappeared back into his bedroom without so much as a 'thank you' or a kiss on the cheek. I was slightly miffed but put it down to the excitement of having nice new shiny things to play with.
About 5 hours later, he emerged, still in his pj's and demanded food via a series of grunts which took me a few minutes to understand. I dutifully made him his favourite sandwich (cheese, ham and tomato sauce) and he disappeared again. A couple of hours later, he re-emerged, grunted something that sounded like 'gnrfingoodlegirnk' and went out. I looked at my other half, who rolled his eyes and announced that my loving, funny, blonde haired, blue eyed child had turned into a teenager and that for the next 6 years, our lives would be 'interesting'.
This was the first day of bringing up a troglodyte, and compared with what was to follow, I reckon I got off quite lightly, a sort of foretaste if you will.
Having just written this, I now feel the strong urge to go and lie down, or have a brandy, whichever is closest, brandy I think.
I will post more adventures of living with a trog, as I can only do this in small increments, I hope in some small way it will help with any other parents out there who all of a sudden find themselves confronted by the not inconsiderable and incomprehesible task of caring for and feeding a teenaged troglodyte.
posted by shezzy's sanitarium at 6:47 PM
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