The kitchen, silent once more, glares balefully at you. Bad mom! So now what are you gonna do, huh? You’ve got 90 minutes. Your reputation as the team’s reigning-champion, bake-from-scratch parental unit is at stake. Are you kidding me? What kind of parent would reward this kid's laziness and rudeness by baking cookies for him? I love the recipe. But the background? Why isn't this parent getting this rude lazy boy into the kitchen to bake these cookies himself? Because there's nothing so personal as your own parenting style. Because with teenagers, you pick your battles. My parenting style happened to work—for our family. That "rude, lazy boy" somehow turned into a loving, generous man. Despite, or because of me? Nurture/nature; a little of both, I suspect. PJH

• Reply