14/04/2026
I used to think my parents just knew things. Not in a vague “they’re older than me” kind of way, but in a very specific, almost mystical sense. Like they had access to information about the world that I simply wasn’t ready for yet. Why you shouldn’t sit too close to the TV, what happens if you crack your knuckles, why certain stores were mysteriously closed the second I asked for something. It all felt like part of a bigger system that I would eventually grow into.
Then you get older, and you realize something slightly unsettling. A lot of that “knowledge” wasn’t knowledge at all. It was improvisation. Fast, efficient, sometimes brilliant improvisation designed to solve very immediate problems, usually involving you being annoying.
Because parenting, as it turns out, is not just about raising a child. It’s about managing a tiny, unpredictable human with endless energy and questions, while also trying to have five minutes of peace. And sometimes, the fastest solution is not the truth. It’s whatever sentence will make the situation stop.
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