I WAS THIRTEEN when I wrote my first book. It was called The Teen Commandments, and consisted of advice to parents on how to behave and not irritate their children to death. Sadly, before I could ram the book into a safe, and profit from its sage counsel in later life, I lost it.
To jog my memory, and in a faint hope of reducing the guerrilla warfare at home, I asked my own children for their list of Dos and Donts for parents.
Top of the list was unanimously: Parents should not pry.
This involved asking questions such as: ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Who with? Will you be back for supper?’ ‘Who was that on the telephone?’ ‘Why were you so long on the telephone?’ ‘Was it a good party?’ And (worst of all), ‘Did you meet anyone nice?’
Parents should not then resort to MI5 tactics, ringing up best friend Louise’s mother, asking if Louise had a nice time at the party, then casually asking if Louise mentioned Emily getting off with anyone – and then saying: ‘Oh, his parents are supposed to be rather nice, aren’t they?’
Parents should not force their children to go to frightful parties where they won’t know anybody, on the premise that they might meet Master Right.
Parents should cook and foot the drinks bill for their children’s parties, but not attend them. Nor should they invite any guest without consultation – just because a boy washes and goes to Winchester, it doesn’t stop him being a wimp.
Parents should never make comparisons, saying: ‘When I was your age, I had hordes of boys from Eton, Marlborough and Radley after me, but we never did anything, of course – we were so innocent in those days.’
Parents should not regurgitate the past to the accompaniment of violins, recounting how during the war they had nothing to eat, only water at meal times, and had to wash up, dry and put away because there were no dishwashers.
Parents should not automatically turn the volume knob 45 degrees to the left whenever they enter the room. They must appreciate that homework is only possible if stereo, radio and television are blaring. They must never storm into the sitting room, howling: ‘I’m not having you glued to television on a lovely day,’ then spend the rest of the afternoon themselves watching the rugger international.
Parents should share everything with their children: hairdriers, belts, make-up, and that utterly gross, yucky black polo-neck jersey, which was rejected with screams of mirth in the summer holidays but which has suddenly come back into fashion.
Parents should never make personal remarks. If their children wish to appear with their hair like an upside down lavatory brush, dipped in plum jam, that’s their problem.
Parents should provide a twenty-four-hour taxi service and always lend their children the car to practise driving. After all, Volvos are built to withstand a few gateposts and stone walls.
Parents should not be inconsistent, howling with laughter over Adrian Mole and videos of Animal House, drooling over Madonna, then going berserk if their children behave in a remotely similar fashion. They should not hold forth on the perils of teenage drinking while clutching a second triple whisky. Nor is a half-empty packet of Rothmans in a trouser pocket proof of heroin addiction.
Parents should never dictate their children’s diet. Four Mars bars, seventeen packets of crisps, two pounds of Granny Smiths, a litre of Coke and four mugs of hot chocolate – leaving the relevant milk-coated pans in the sink – are the ideal substitute for three meals a days.
Parents should never answer ‘Yes’ to the question: ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Nor make the most biddable child do the most housework.
Parents must appreciate that there’s no time like the future. Bedrooms can be tidied next year, washing brought down next week, as long as it’s then done immediately, as the child needs it before lunch.
Parents should not throw tantrums over inessentials, such as every towel in the house wet under the bed, topless ketchup bottles, encrusted forks in ancient half-filled baked beans tins behind the sofa, and twelve newly ironed shirts hopelessly creased because someone’s rummaged through the hot cupboard after a pair of tights.
Children should not lose too much sleep – their mothers and fathers may just be going through a difficult, rebellious age.
But sadly, as Anthony Powell once pointed out: ‘Parents are often a great disappointment to their children. They seldom fulfil the promise of their early years.’