The One Where I Get Cross About Overly Indulgent Parenting
Dear readers, this particular post is in grave danger of dissolving into an incoherent rant of epic proportions – hopefully I can hold it together long enough to put forward my argument in a sane and sensible way… Hold on to your hats, boys and girls.
Let’s travel back in time a little. I am six years old. My Mum (at my insistence I might add) has signed me up for a ten week term of ballet classes. At first, I am overjoyed. I love ballet more than anything else in the world. I fully plan on being a ballet dancer one day.
And then, quite inexplicably, half way through the term I change my mind. No-one knows quite why. But I don’t want to go any more. Cue stamping of feet, slamming of doors and much wailing. My Mum stands firm. She tells me that I have to go – I’m signed up for the full term, she’s paid good money for it; and besides which she knows that I actually enjoy it.
Sulking, I go.
And she’s right – I do enjoy it. I enjoy it so much, that at the end of the term I beg and plead her to sign me up for another term.
