Dependency
I depend on my children to care about what happens to me. After all, if they don’t I’ll be in deep trouble when I’m old and senile. (I mean really old and really senile, not just kind of old and having a bad memory for names.)
I depend on my children to “get” me, and they do. I don’t just mean getting my jokes, although that is always a plus. I mean that they understand my values, interests, and motivations.
I depend on my children to remember the good times we had when they were children. I also depend on them to forget (or at least overlook) the bad times.
I depend on my children to tell me when I’m mistaken. I also depend on them to back up their opinions with good arguments or evidence, otherwise I’ll just go back to being right.
I depend on my children to be as creative as they can be. That’s what gives me bragging rights.
I depend on my children to tell me when they are in trouble. Generally speaking they don’t, but eventually I find out about whatever it is anyway. By then they’ve sorted out their own problems. That works for me.
I depend on my children to push some of society’s boundaries occasionally so that I am forced to reconsider things. They don’t disappoint.
I depend on my children to tell me when I’m making really bad life choices. They haven’t done that yet, which must mean that either I haven’t made any bad choices or they have decided to let me make my own mistakes. I wonder where they got that idea.
Yes, I am very dependent upon my children. Now, if only one of them would buy a pickup truck, I could depend on them to move large items of furniture, too!
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