“It’s a love/hate relationship. Hate is too strong a word. But she just can’t accept that I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a lot more mature than most fourteen-year-olds; I already have a job and everything. But she’ll shut me down just to get at me. And there’s nothing I can do because she’s my Mom. She’s always on top of me: be careful with this, be careful with that. Won’t let me go to my friend’s houses if they’re a little further than our neighborhood. And we’re both stubborn, so if I try to argue it goes back and forth. She doesn’t want to see her kid be right. She gives me no choice but to be loud and extreme just to get my point across. But look, I get it. She’s got this Google folder on her phone with like 1400 photos of me when I was younger. It goes all the way back to my first day of school. The other day I went into the kitchen to get a drink, and I caught her scrolling through the pictures, and she’s crying. I was like damn. So look– I get it. I’m still mad, but I get it.”
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