I've Had It Up to Here with Teenagers (18 page)

Unfortunately, I have learned that no matter how well one does in the opening arguments with parents, their closing statements always result in a guilty verdict for teenagers. This constant cloud of defeat probably contributes to teenagers' frequently unpleasant and angry attitudes that my mother complains about (over and over again). Here's the perfect analogy: imagine playing baseball all your life and never winning one game, even though you took some teams into extra innings!

It's not easy being a teenager, no matter what my mom says. You realize that parents are legally obligated to pay for our food, clothes, and living expenses, right? We didn't ask to be born. I say take it up with the Supreme Court, but don't grumble about it to
us. I'm sure someone told my parents long ago that those sweet, innocent babies would at some point turn into big, hairy, mean teenagers. I think adolescence is like boot camp right before you go to real war. It's hard on everybody.

In a short time, I will be leaving for college. There are a few things I will miss about my teenage years under this roof. I will miss my brother and sister. I'll miss my mom's pound cake and my dad taking us to Alabama football games. My mother says I will miss the clean clothes that will no longer appear in my room, too. I may even miss my parents—the dictator and the judge.

Seriously, when I have kids, I hope I am as good a parent as my parents have been for me. I'm talking about the kids I have in the distant, distant future, as I am sure my mom was thinking when she read that sentence—which is just the kind of thing to crank her up on a sex-education discussion.

Sincerely,

Warner Thompson

At the end of every statewide campaign, it is customary for politicians like my husband to give flowery, over-the-top speeches thanking the volunteers and paid staff who work behind the scenes to ensure their candidate's success. It is a running joke in our household that I refuse to be thanked publicly by my husband. I don't need public recognition for that. I support him because I love him. For goodness' sake, I've been married to the man for twenty-five years. That number speaks volumes. I respect his work, and I think Alabama is lucky to have him on the appellate bench. However, he knows full well that if he ever plants a big, wet kiss on my lips in front of an audience, he's going down for the count. I mean it. The very idea makes me nauseated.

Every time I finish writing a book, I find myself in the same position as those post-campaign politicians. I
want
to thank people. Like me, most of them would rather not be thanked. They help me because they love me. Isn't that lovely?

So … regardless of the consequences, I have a few individuals I want to thank in these pages. Since this is my book, I can do what I want.

This time, thanks especially to Vera and Rip Britton and Whitney Page. These friends read late-night, frantic emails with strange subject lines like, “Quick! Quick! Read this and tell me if it's funny or not!” They mulled over things, encouraged me, and gave me wise counsel. I couldn't ask for finer friends.

Thanks to Vicki Johnson, who dragged me kicking and screaming—no modest feat—into the world of social media. That woman has the patience of a saint. She even laughed when I accidentally invited my Episcopal bishop, Kee Sloan, to be my friend on Facebook. Even better, she used her nimble fingers to fix it. She's my kind of gal.

A special thank-you to Renea Lucy for taking the photograph of my kids—twenty minutes and no one screamed!

As always, thanks to my personal photographer, Brit Huckabay. Brit can make any woman look good and feel like a rock star. Feel free to book a photo session with him yourself. You'll see what I'm talking about.

Big news: I worked with a new editor on this book, Steve Kirk. You all know how much I love change (not at all), so I'm sure I was a little party for him. All I can say is, “Steve, you are so
the man
.” This book is infinitely better than it would have been without him. I now know why he has that “senior editor” title. A great editor is like a wife (or so I imagine). Steve gets my heartfelt gratitude and a pound cake. Lord knows, he earned it.

As always, thanks to the home team—husband, children, parents, sister, and friends—for making it possible for me to write what I love, travel to speaking events, and still keep my day job as mother and dictator. I love you all.