Permission to Break the Rules - GRANTED

I gave my daughter permission to break the rules today. She's on a class field trip, and the kids weren't allowed to take their cellphones. Haha, that's cute, I say. Stick it in your jeans' pocket, I told her as she walked out the door. There's no way I'm telling my kid to follow the rules in such an instance. They are on a bus, well, several buses actually. There are railroad crossings, other cars, trucks, adults, not to mention all the strangers in the place they are going to. If I had a shoulder holster, she'd be packin'! (I don't own a gun, but moms can understand what I mean!) The world is a dangerous place for anyone anymore. I suggest everyone walk around with their camera phone out and ready to go at all times. So yes, today she's breaking the rules. I'll do the detention if it comes down to that. Mom's rule trumps the school's rule in this case.

I never used to break the rules and it led me to a life of resentment. I dutifully followed school rules, employer's rules, society's rules and found that not a lot of other people were following the rules. Once I got a little taste of freedom from rules, I began to have some fun. Not all rules are made to be broken, I mean, I work within laws. 

To illustrate: once in Italy, I was in this bookstore that had the entrance on one side of the store and the exit on the wall adjacent to it. This bookstore was laid out in a maze with very narrow passageways, so you had no straight line to the exit once you entered. Literally, it could take you several minutes to get out of the store, even though you knew the exit was just on the wall next to the entrance. The store was long and narrow and the maze led you down the length of it, several_fucking_times.

My daughter, then three years old (and in a stroller) and I were waiting just inside the entrance of the store for a Italian student of mine. We were all going to have lunch at a fabulous trattoria in the city center. My student arrived and I turned to see the crowd in the store and remembered fighting it was like fighting the crowd at a Macy's Black Friday sale. It's just not easy to get through, especially in the tiny passages. I also remembered that at the exit was a revolving door, unlike the regular door I'd just come through, and I would have to get a store employee to unlock the regular door at the other end to allow me to get out. Hassle + Extra Time = Fuck That. So I turned to walk out the entrance and a salesgirl put out her hand in the Stop-in-the-Name-of-Love fashion and told me senora, it's not possible. You cannot go out this way; you must go around. Uh huh. Yes, I can, I said and proceeded to open their little gate and walk to the door. No senora, it's not possible. I kept walking and nodding my head, saying yes it is, and pushed open the door. I. Was. Outside. The. Store. And this woman was shouting at me that it wasn't possible for me to go out that door. I turned, looked at her over the top of my sunglasses and flatly said, call the police. 

My student followed me, but she was bent over laughing, trying to tell me something, and she couldn't get the words out. Eventually she explained that Italians do not break rules like that; they simply listen and do what is told. She thought it was fantastic and couldn't wait to tell her parents! She told me that the salesgirl was completely flustered and that her mouth dropped when I told her to call the police. At the time I didn't think anything of it. I simply shrugged it off as being an impatient American, not willing to put up with impracticality and time wasters. You ever slog through a store with a toddler and a stroller when your only goal is OUT???? You can't find the exit fast enough.

Rule Breaker. Rebel. That's me. And today, my daughter's a chip off the old block! I'm so proud.