Editor's Note: The characters contained herein are fictional only. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental

In speaking with a friend on the phone, it was pointed out to me that my blog was somewhat indiscreet. The question was if certain people in my life were to read it, would they be offended?

This caused me to go back and reread my entries. I realised in so doing, that I have made numerous references to having had a somewhat dysfunctional upbringing. I wondered if I should be clarifying the comments. (It's a weird thing this blog ... because on the one hand, I do sort of just sit down and type away, without editing it. I try to keep in mind though, that some people visit my blog on a regular basis, so I do make an effort to write coherently, but I don't really hold back. Maybe I should though).

So back to the topic at hand ... my family history. I was told once by an old friend that every family screws you up -- it's just a question to what degree. After I thought about it, I found I had to agree. We all sustain some damage from our upbringing, but hopefully it's minimal. The key is the proportional amount of good stuff versus bad stuff.

Jack Nicholson said it best in his speech in the movie "As Good as It Gets". We resent those who've had childhoods filled with laughter, picnics and pasta salads because they were seriously missing from our own.

In my case, my family certainly had some issues. Lack of communication and basic trust were high on the list. Everything was further exacerbated by the fact that there was always that cultural gulf that existed between my parents and I. That and their resounding paranoia that everything less than the rules they laid out, would put me on the dangerous slippery slope to being a pregnant teenage crack addict.

Not making honour roll this term? Are you doing drugs? Going out after dark? You'll get pregnant and disgrace the family. Going on a date before the age of thirty (with some non-Korean boy, no less)? You'll get pregnant and disgrace the family. Wearing a short skirt? You'll get pregnant and disgrace the family. Smoking a cigarette? Are you doing drugs? Hanging out with friends that smoke cigarettes? Are you doing drugs? Hanging out with girls who are more developed than you? You'll get pregnant and disgrace the family.

Now, does my current openness about some of what transpired within the four walls of my family home mean that I am being indiscreet and dishonouring my parents' reputation? Perhaps, if you're a strictly black and white thinker.

When I was younger, I not only omitted to tell friends and others about the true climate of my household, but I actually lied and invented a "pasta salad picnic" family, because I was afraid that if they knew the truth, they would think that something was terribly wrong with me to cause my parents to be like this. It took me three decades to realise that the bad parenting choices my parents made had little to do with me, and everything to do with them. It also took me a long time to realise that despite any of the bad choices, my parents weren't bad people. They were simply two people who loved their children and were propelled by a sense of fear, and therefore took what they felt were appropriate precautions to protect us. Sure, maybe they took some extreme steps to reinforce their values, but as a parent, I can certainly understand where they were coming from.

It's a scary world out there. One of the hardest parts of parenting is letting your children experience life for themselves. Sometimes, you have to let them get hurt in order for them to learn their lesson. My parents didn't want us to get hurt. For them, it was better to hurt us by denying us our freedom than it was to turn us out into the world. Can anyone fault them for this? I sure as hell can't.

But my friend's right. I guess I shouldn't be referring to my past as being dysfunctional. Maybe it is indiscreet and disrespectful. So I want to be on the record now as saying that I do believe my parents were good parents in their own way. The good stuff definitely outweighed the bad. They loved us and tried their best to guide us through the perils of life. At the end of the day, that's all you can do.

I'm sure one day, at least one of my children will come away feeling that he or she suffered at the hands of his or her dysfunctional mom. God only knows, I've made so many mistakes already. In the meantime, I'm going to go and pack a pasta salad for our picnic in the park ...