Defiance: A genetic defect?

I still remember the day I first felt truly defiant. (Well, the first day I can remember, of course.) I must have been, oh, six, and I had watched entirely too many dramatic stories on television of young runaways. After my mother delivered what I perceived to be a vicious injustice, I stormed off to my room, packed a few necessary belongings into my baby blanket, searched the room for a toy broom to tie the package onto all hobo-style, and marched back to the front door. I looked up at the kitchen only to see my mom busily doing the dishes.

Who did she think she was? A mother of five? (Or maybe it was six by then, the timeframe really is blurry.) Giving it an Oscar-worthy, "goodbye-cruel-world" performance, I painfully sighed, "I'll see you in twenty years."

She turned off the sink and looked at me. Immediately I understood this to mean that she felt all the pain that would exist in her life without me. I felt her begging me to stay and remain the vital part of our family that I was. I felt her apologizing. Then she spoke.

"Did you say something?"

"Yes mom," I thought, "your apology is acceptable. Thank you for understanding your error. I would like to spend the night in my warm bed now."

But all I sighed was, "no."

I don't know why this story has been running through my head lately. Perhaps it's because Penelope had her first truly defiant moment the other night: refusing to swallow her food.

Like mother, like daughter.

Note: Please ignore the obviously bad parenting and filming in this video. Also, did you notice how Jesse is all worried she might be sick, and I immediately just wanted it on film? Man, he really is a better parent than I am.