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The lesson.

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The Lesson The night of my first real kiss was also the night of the worst fight I have ever had with my mother. I was a 16-year-old girl and considered myself pretty mature for my age. I did well at school, was good looking and had always been good at sports. I wouldn't have called myself popular, but I had friends. Now that I think about it I was one of the luckier ones, unlucky however in love. I had had my eye on John Wilkinson forever, and my chance finally came when I spied him at the party that my best friend, Caroline, and I had finally gathered the courage to go to. The guy throwing the party lived in a red brick house in a privately owned close in San Francisco. His house was dark, and crowded, the light from the kitchen not quite reaching the corner of the garden where John stood. I was wearing my new vintage denim mini-skirt, my black jimmy choo kitten heels and a jimmy joolz t-shirt. ...read more.


I found myself screaming back at her, and once I was let into the house I ran upstairs, slammed my door shut and cried at the grand injustice that was my life. The next morning when I came downstairs for breakfast my mother didn't shout she just looked at me and said quietly "you're not going to the dance" knowing I had been looking forward to the dance for months, I didn't answer her back I just ate my breakfast in silence went up to my room and phoned Caroline. I told her to pick me up on Friday from my house at eight; I had decided to go to the dance no matter what my mother said. The next week passed in a blur of nothingness. I went to school as normal, I rushed home everyday to watch Neighbours and Home and Away; I fought with my little brother and did my homework. I only spoke to my mother when necessary and even then it was very cordial. ...read more.


I was overcome with guilt at the fact that I had given John the chance to talk to me but I had never given my mother that same chance. I decided that I owed her a conversation, a real one. A real conversation is a very powerful thing; it changes the people who have them. It involves an exchange of ideas, considering other people's opinions and most of all admitting that you are not always right. That night my mother and me had a 'real' conversation and it turned out to be exactly what we needed. She explained to me that she didn't want a slave daughter who obeyed every rule but a daughter she could trust and not have to worry about. I on the other hand explained that I wanted a life where a John was possible and that my mother wouldn't go mad every time I missed curfew. In the end we both realised that the only way we would ever solve a problem would be to talk about it and not just hope that it would go away. ...read more.

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