What I’ve learned about parents, from my own personal experiences and observations as well as some wise words from a certain friend, is that you don’t have to like your parents. That’s right, you don’t. You don’t have to like them one bit. You can DISlike them if you want. Now, I love my parents, I really do. And I will be forever grateful and appreciative of everything they’ve done and given me. But this goes beyond that. This is me knowing that my parents are simply that – my parents. They are not my friends, my therapist, or my keeper. I love them, but I don’t have to like them. Confusing, right?

My parents and I share genes and characteristics and a dislike of cats, but other than that, they are not the kind of people I would look at and say “Hey! I like the looks of those two – they seem to be a conservative white couple who drink too much and indulge in politically incorrect digs. I’m going to go make myself some new friends.”

This discovery was highlighted under one of those industrial stadium lights construction workers use at night, when my mother discovered that I’m serious about getting a Monroe piercing.

I’ll save the gory details, but it ended with her crying about me ruining my beauty and demanding to know when my fanatical piercing was going to end and how far was I going to take this kind of insanity?! I know it was mean, but I laughed. On the inside, but still – it was a laugh, and I think a smirk may have slipped out. She was dead serious – she is convinced that I am ruining my life with these “acts of self-mutilation” and that I’m doing it as a way of retaliation and means of getting attention.

Enough with the teen-angst drama. The reason forthat sob story is to highlight my real point. My parents and I don’t like each other. We don’t like the decisions the other makes and we don’t get along with each other. And that’s ok. Really, it is. While a therapist would say that in I am actually upset by this fact and I’m retaliating by suffocating my feelings and instead using my stubborn nature as a shield, but I know now that’s a bunch of bullshit.

My parents are who they are and they will never like what I do and they will never be ok with my tattoos, piercings, friends and boyfriends, and that’s just going to have to be ok.

So moral of the story, kids? It doesn’t matter what your parents think and it’s OK not to like them! If I’m not a good enough role model, I’ll hook you up with the inspiring story of the aforementioned friend who has mastered the art of the “I don’t like my parents and it’s ok” speech. It’s quite inspiring, actually. I may like to hear it again myself.