A Response from my dear Daughter...

It’s all about maintaining the facade.

Your parents have to believe that they are all knowing, all powerful, and that there is no possible way that you can sneak anything past them.

Ever.

It’s the whole masquerade that makes them believe that they’ve still got ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ may be.

After careful research and observation,
my brothers and I have figured out what "it" is. ‘It’ may be a variety of things, it really all depends on your particular type of parent.

For some of them, it may be the fact that they still think they can out sprint you, no matter how many times they’ve seen you win provincial track meets.

For others, it may be that they can outwit you in a battle of useless facts, and no, you really didn’t need to know that a male walrus can weigh up to 4,400 pounds, but thanks anyways.

For my brothers and I, it’s been his mafia like connections.

My entire life my dad has been involved in one way or another with emergency services, as many of you know. Be it the fire department in Peace River, or STARS in Calgary, he seems to know absolutely everyone that gets to attach loud, flashy sirens to the roofs of their cars.

With this wealth of human resources, as he calls it, he claims that he can locate any of us within minutes, as long as we’re in Alberta. Sure Dad. What he hasn’t realised is that though he may have Alberta covered, I have friends across Canada that I’m pretty sure I could crash with when stuck in such a dire situation.

Good luck finding me in Atikokan, Ontario, in less than ten minutes, Dad.

Another important fact about maintaining this crucial mirage has everything to do with your friends.

My father, as much as I love him, has the strange illusion that he is to my friends as Batman is to the general populace of Gotham city.

Alrighty pops; you keep your utility belt and cape.

Little does he know we prep our friends before hand, training them in the art of parental manipulation. This does involve a wee bit of time, ensure that they get the “Yes, Mr. Couch” and “No, Mr. Couch” with the right mix of terror and awe.

That they get the flinch just right for when he ‘sneaks’ into the room during a movie marathon, and that they keep the right level of fear apparent when he gets home from work.

But, being the adaptable creatures teenagers are, this intensive training tends to take no more than ten minutes, but is perfectly invaluable for the rest of our friendship! It’s the perfect win-win situation: Dad believes he’s struck fear into the souls of our friends, and we get away with tons more than he realizes.

But  shhh, don’t tell him!