Day of the Dead-Like Living

My friend Lyn was complaining the other day- about her 18 year old son. I know how she feels.

I have one too.

It’s the summer holidays and we await A level results. In the meantime our beloved offspring are getting on our nerves.

“He’s horizontal all the time, goes to bed late, watches TV , computer, X box and doesn’t see daylight at all. He came back from a holiday in Greece paler than before he left.”

Now I read the papers, especially the mental health sections, (I have a particular interest/need) and I understand that the teenage brain requires more sleep than normal. Something to do with their circadian rhythm and vampirish sleep patterns. Indeed some schools are advocating a later start to the school day to enable students to have better focus, impulse control, homework results, improved attendance, concentration, sociability, and alertness during the day etc...

Both Lyn and I have tried to extol the virtues of summer employment and the benefits, self – respect, discipline, cash etc to be gained thereof. All to no avail. Lyn even went as far as producing a list of exciting possibilities in the vicinity, washing up, shelf stacking, pamphlet delivering...It was discarded amongst the sweet wrappers littering his table as he blithely continued on Facebook. Mine was much the same when I raised the subject, again.

 “I don’t want a job” he retorted as he took my car keys.

Now I’m a reasonably intolerant kind of mother with a short fuse but even I have my pre-meltdown limits. This state of perpetual horizontalism in a twilight world has to stop.

In France a grande horizontale would at least be paid for her supine position and if she really made an effort and shook a leg or two there might even be a bonus in it for her.

Now I’m not advocating any kind of immoral behaviour here though a stint as a pit pony down a Welsh coal mine might make them appreciate daylight a bit more.

I have something else in mind. Something local, not too strenuous, productive in its way though probably not one for the CV.

Our local pick –your- own farm has vacancies, for scarecrows.

All we would have to do is rouse our boys, momentarily, fix them to a wooden stake, prop them up, slather their delicate palefaces with suntan cream , pop a straw hat on their heads and leave them in the field for a couple of hours. One look at their dishevelled hair, grungy clothes and that vacant gormless gaga shoot-em up X-box look in the eyes and the terrified birds would squawk off.

They could still be asleep, just vertical for a change.

 

Perfect!