<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842695261245977798</id><updated>2024-03-07T22:49:02.775-06:00</updated><category term="boyfriend"/><category term="don&#39;t like the boyfriend"/><category term="parenting"/><category term="raising girls"/><category term="raising teenagers"/><category term="raising teens"/><category term="teenagers"/><title type='text'>Ain&#39;t Ya Got No Sense?</title><subtitle type='html'>If you are looking for common sense approaches for family, health, money and finances, education, and nearly every phase in life, you have come to the right place.  Click on the articles posted to gain insight into many different areas spanning from your favorite music to bringing home your first baby to raising teens to maintaining good health to planning your retirement to planning your financial estate.  To be successful, it just takes a little common sense…</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aintyagotnosense.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1842695261245977798/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aintyagotnosense.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12905192293207358908</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAgLneHENyGZKZjhbt9hmAML5LEqSEYAgy8jU6RXEKKubwcRmh5EcM25EJr4738BSEpjDgv24EBzKprDmhdqMD-I7VgZZx9sKkAKPS1VBE4bsXiPA4j9O5aVEDg-4oQ/s220/IMG_2445+%28Edited%29.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842695261245977798.post-3793623469705032828</id><published>2013-08-05T15:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2013-08-05T15:59:18.435-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="boyfriend"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="don&#39;t like the boyfriend"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="raising girls"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="raising teenagers"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="raising teens"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="teenagers"/><title type='text'>When You Don’t Like Your Daughter’s Boyfriend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a class=&quot;twitter-share-button&quot; data-count=&quot;vertical&quot; data-related=&quot;http://hubpages.com/_9g6g4fj4tqvu/profile/sholland10:Read more from Sholland10&quot; data-via=&quot;sholland10&quot; href=&quot;http://twitter.com/share&quot;&gt;Tweet&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;When I was 14, I came home from the county fair convinced I
had found my “soul mate.”&amp;nbsp; He was 19, had
blonde hair, blue eyes, and a bad boy image.&amp;nbsp;
Needless to say, my mother was less than happy.&amp;nbsp; When she was 15, she ran off and married a
boy just like him, my father.&amp;nbsp; It didn’t
turn out too well.&amp;nbsp; They were married for
30 years, had eight kids, and a life of turmoil.&amp;nbsp; My father was a mean alcoholic, but my mother
loved him until the day she died even though he caused her great heartache
during those 30 years.&amp;nbsp; Why did she stay
with him for so long?&amp;nbsp; Because that is
what women of her time period did.&amp;nbsp; They
sucked it up and didn’t sully the family by getting a divorce.&amp;nbsp; She did finally leave him a few months after
I was born in the mid 60’s, though, and she paid dearly in our small town of
judgmental people.&amp;nbsp; She was an outcast
amongst her peers. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;You would have thought I had learned from her example.&amp;nbsp; Heck NO, I was only 14. &amp;nbsp;Maybe
growing up without a dad made me crave a male model.&amp;nbsp; Since my dad was 5 years older than my mom
and also had the bad boy image, I chose someone very close to what he was.&amp;nbsp; I used this information against my mother,
but I did not take into account the toll it took on her to live with her bad
boy.&amp;nbsp; At the same time, she never talked
to me about the details of that horrible life.&amp;nbsp;
My older brothers and sisters filled me in as I was going through my
teen years.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;At 14 I was determined to get what I wanted, and she fought
me every step of the way.&amp;nbsp; She was right,
of course, but her approach was wrong.&amp;nbsp; She
only made me want to be with this boy more by telling me to stay away from
him.&amp;nbsp; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;I had the typical “I know everything” teenage attitude.&amp;nbsp; I dated him for 2 ½ years thinking I could
change him.&amp;nbsp; He was a high school dropout.&amp;nbsp; I thought I had convinced him to get his GED,
but he never did work on it.&amp;nbsp; He sniffed
glue when I met him.&amp;nbsp; I told him I would
break up with him if he didn’t stop.&amp;nbsp;
Thankfully, he did stop.&amp;nbsp; He was
good to me: flowers, dinners, and, except for the GED, jumped through hoops to
please me.&amp;nbsp; Neither one of us had a clue
about future or life.&amp;nbsp; Our plan was to get
married when I turned 16.&amp;nbsp; My mother didn’t
know that, and thankfully, that didn’t happen.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;During the time we dated, my mother eventually started
liking him.&amp;nbsp; He was a good guy, and he
would do anything for me and my mother.&amp;nbsp; Around
the time I turned 16, my mother had given up the fight and I was becoming
curious about the world around me.&amp;nbsp; I wanted
to hang out with friends, and I began to have ambitions that went beyond what I
shared with this boy.&amp;nbsp; It was hard, but I
broke up with him.&amp;nbsp; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;Oh, Youth…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;A few months later, I did meet the love of my life, whom I
am still married to today.&amp;nbsp; My mother
loved him!&amp;nbsp; His father was an upstanding
citizen who was a deacon at the First Baptist Church. &amp;nbsp;She didn&#39;t take into account that a deacon&#39;s kid is one of those exciting, dangerous boys that teenage girls can&#39;t resist.&amp;nbsp;She never stood in our way.&amp;nbsp; He, too, had a bad boy image that she didn’t
know about.&amp;nbsp; He was popular and had
ambitions for the future.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;We got married
three days after I turned 18 and he was 20.&amp;nbsp;
Do we regret getting married, no; but we wish we had been wiser and
waited a few more years.&amp;nbsp; Again, at 18, I
fell back on my mother’s example of getting married young.&amp;nbsp; Since she liked him, she didn’t fight me on
it.&amp;nbsp; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;Now We Have a
Daughter&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;My husband and I knowing the history and remembering our own
rebellious natures have tried to apply what we learned with our daughter.&amp;nbsp; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;When she was in high school and brought home a boy we didn’t
like:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ol&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;We&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;saw it for what it was – teenage emotion that
changes with the wind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;We shared with her all we missed out on because
we jumped in and got married too soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;We NEVER told her when we didn’t like a boy –
that was TOUGH!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;She figured it out on
her own.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;We knew she would, so we didn’t
push it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;My husband took a picture of the boy, his car,
and his license plate before they left the house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;My husband is a big guy, and his mere
presence intimidated boys.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;I think if
you are a single mom, like my mom, you could still get away with this because
the boy knows you are looking out for your daughter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;The boy knows if she doesn’t turn up at
curfew, you have the information you need to call the police.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;Yes, it embarrassed my daughter, but she knew
she was our world and understood why he did it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;As her mother, I left the lines of communication
open to her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;She knew she could talk to
me about anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;It is hard not to
show your judgmental feelings, but you have to constrain them or your daughter
will possibly rebel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;We tried to share real world advice, not
emotional “I’m your mother and because I said so.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;Nope, she is too much like both of us, so we
knew emotional outburst wouldn’t work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;We have used our past to remember how we were:
rebellious, wanting to have fun, stupidly wanting to grow up too fast… We used
our past as reference before she could use it against us, as I did with my
mother.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;Whether we have liked the boy or not, we made
him feel welcome in our home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;Sometimes that was hard to do.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;We have stressed the importance of education and
career with our daughter so she will want to do her best and not let the wrong
boy drag her down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;We always made sure she knew she was our top
priority and that we loved her unconditionally.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-indent: -0.25in;&quot;&gt;I think this caused her to respect us more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ol&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoListParagraphCxSpLast&quot; style=&quot;mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;The Result&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;Our daughter is working her way through college.&amp;nbsp; She lives on her own, and she, like her
parents then and now, loves to have a good time but knows where to draw the
line.&amp;nbsp; She balances her work, school,
money, and social life in order to be independent.&amp;nbsp; She still comes home to a family she knows
she can depend on at any time for anything. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: large;&quot;&gt;I think we did all right.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;blogger-post-footer&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/share&quot; class=&quot;twitter-share-button&quot; data-count=&quot;vertical&quot; data-via=&quot;sholland10&quot;&gt;Tweet&lt;/a&gt;&lt;script type=&quot;text/javascript&quot; src=&quot;http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js&quot;&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aintyagotnosense.blogspot.com/feeds/3793623469705032828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://aintyagotnosense.blogspot.com/2013/08/when-you-dont-like-your-daughters.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1842695261245977798/posts/default/3793623469705032828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1842695261245977798/posts/default/3793623469705032828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aintyagotnosense.blogspot.com/2013/08/when-you-dont-like-your-daughters.html' title='When You Don’t Like Your Daughter’s Boyfriend'/><author><name>Susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12905192293207358908</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAgLneHENyGZKZjhbt9hmAML5LEqSEYAgy8jU6RXEKKubwcRmh5EcM25EJr4738BSEpjDgv24EBzKprDmhdqMD-I7VgZZx9sKkAKPS1VBE4bsXiPA4j9O5aVEDg-4oQ/s220/IMG_2445+%28Edited%29.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>