Within seconds, my mother’s face was brandishing the wall monitor.

Even now, pushing 50, her face and well toned body showed no signs of aging. When I was in high school, we would constantly get mistaken for sisters.

She squinted at us, “Allison, is that you?”

“Hi, mom.” I said, meekly.

“Roberta, would you like to know what your daughter did today?” My father asked.

“Frank, Oh god, what do you want?” she asked in a low rumble.

“I want to know why your daughter doesn’t know how to fly any better than a new born chicken.” He said.

“Oh, god, she’s not flying is she?” My mother asked.

“Not well. And YOU should have taught her.” he scolded.

“Why?”

“Because, she was living with you!”

“Do you know how hard it would be to explain a teenager flying down the Strip out here?”

“It’s alot safer out in vegas than it is here. You can’t have expected me to-”

“ENOUGH!” Once again, I interrupted my parents bickering. “What are you two talking about?”