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I’m sick and tired of everyone thinking I’m small. I am 16 years old. And every morning it starts:

– Ksyushka-daughter, go wash your face.

Later:

– Ksyunya, go eat.

– Xenia, wear a scarf.

– Xenia, don’t forget the diary.

– Ksyusha, you’re wearing the wrong shoes.

Parents, dear ones. I am in the 10th grade. I want to wash, eat, and tie my scarf by myself, without your prompting. You see, my classmates laugh at me when they see me going to the store with my mother. I know my mom has to help me shop, but I can do it by myself. I can buy potatoes and sugar and butter and whatever else I want, not under my mother’s supervision. And I don’t have to stop in the middle of the store to prove to me that I’m the stupidest because I bought the wrong loaf.

Parents, dear ones. I am in the 10th grade. I want to wash, eat, and tie my scarf by myself, without your prompting. You see, my classmates laugh at me when they see me going to the store with my mother. I know my mom has to help me shop, but I can do it by myself. I can buy potatoes and sugar and butter and whatever else I want, not under my mother’s supervision. And I don’t have to stop in the middle of the store to prove to me that I’m the stupidest because I bought the wrong loaf.

You see, I want to learn how to buy what I need, how to cook everything, and what I need to do around the house. Yes, maybe I’m not good at everything, but don’t nag me like I’m five years old. These are my mistakes and I will eat or not eat my own burnt porridge. I’m very afraid that if I don’t get out from under such strong tutelage, I won’t be able to do things right for my family in the future.

Honestly, I look at the weather outside myself. And if I don’t want to wear a scarf, it’s only because you, Mommy, tell me to. I would wear it myself, but not without feeling like a helpless and stupid five-year-old.

I recently got a job as a cleaner in a night café. So what! What’s the big deal? I just wanted to earn my own money for a trip to St. Petersburg. But no, my mother made such a fuss, as if I had already been raped and killed there, and my father shouted so much that the upstairs neighbors came running. And after that they want me to tell them where I’m going and what I’m going to do? No, I’d rather lie that I’m going to write an essay for Irka.

I know that my parents mean well, maybe I, too, when I grow up, will take care of my daughter in the same way. But right now I don’t think I will. Because you have to learn from something, even from your own mistakes. I just don’t need to be scolded for every step and told that I’m doing everything wrong. If necessary, I will ask for parental advice myself, but only if I know that it will be advice and not a showdown about my misbehavior.

I know that some of my classmates also have such problems, and I ask all parents to understand that happiness is not in telling the whole world that your child is a rascal and a helpless kid, but happiness is in quietly and peacefully, without scandals and accusations, to pass your life experience to your son or daughter. And do not be surprised that children leave their parents too quickly. No one likes to be considered a little fool all the time.

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