The uncomfortable truth of family life

NOT long ago I was out walking with my mum in the area I grew up.

We lived on the coast and in my teenage years, parties on the wee cliff above the beach, were all the rage. My, but we were hardy souls in those days. This is Fife we’re talking about, not Fuengirola.

“Aww, I remember spewing over the side of the cliff after I drank half a bottle of vodka, while Andy Malone held my ankles to make sure I didn’t fall off,” I reminisced fondly, while going to link arms with Mum.

An icy chill suddenly swept over me. “What?” she hissed, arms clamped to her sides. “I never knew about this!” Hmm.

I am allegedly a grown-up. But there are things my parents don’t need to know.

I still shudder about the time I went to see a band in the Barrowlands, fell and split my chin open, ended up in the Royal Infirmary then realised I had no keys to get into the house.

So I slept in the car. And when my dad found me there in the morning, let’s just say he wasn’t happy to see me.

I was a quiet, well-behaved child. Or so everyone thought. This meant I could skive school very regularly and I always got away with it. (Kids. Don’t do what I did. If I’d paid more attention at school, I’d be doing something useful with my life.)

I remember walking out of school and being challenged by a teacher. “I’ve got permission to go and watch a Spanish language TV programme,” I said.

This was nonsense. Again, Fife not Fuengirola. She burbled a few words to me in Spanish. I mumbled: “Aye, senora,” and went on my way.

I was going to my pal Shirley’s house to play silly music, make up dance routines, prank phone call people and watch the lunchtime Neighbours. Then I’d get the school bus home and tell Mum I’d had a great day. Well, I had.

I grew up in the 70s. You were encouraged to experiment and think for yourself. It was great.

Even though there were things my parents ‘didn’t need to know’, I’m the opposite with my kids.

I’m insanely nosy. They LOVE it when I ask if they’re on Tinder, asking who it was they were cosying up to on Facebook and to explain ‘Netflix and chill’.

I asked them to help me with a feature the other night. They were more than happy to help until my opening gambit.

“Tell me if there’s anything you got up to as teenagers I didn’t know about,” I said.

Their chicken stir fry suddenly became incredibly interesting.

“Come on, it’ll be a laugh and I won’t be angry now, will I?” I said.

The youngest, 18, piped up. “We never told you stuff because we knew you’d worry. We were fine,” he said. “I’ve remembered I’ve got that exam to study for.” And he scarpered.

“I was at my friend’s house as I told you,” said my daughter. “We were drinking. Don’t worry – I was 10. We’d reached double figures.” And she followed her brother out of the room. The eldest never said a word. Wish I’d never asked.