A Real Housewife
I think it’s safe to say that your parents would balk at your ambition to become a gold-digging reality star who nationally airs the family’s dirty laundry like it’s no big deal. If I chose such a path, I can just imagine my father flinching as I kicked off the wine-slinging. My mother would balk at my use of body bronzer. They are totally cool with me being outspoken and non-PC for the sake of my comedy writing, but the smut that Real Housewives say would probably push them over the edge. They can handle my standup, but they couldn’t bear to watch me spitting hair extensions out of my mouth during the weekly catfight. Parents will be fine as long as your ridiculous actions are tied to a character. Once they’re supposed to be a representation of yourself, the head-shaking will commence.
A Weed Farmer
For the record, I have zero problem with marijuana. Anyone who knows me can attest to that fact. However, I can’t imagine any parent around the water cooler being really proud to bring up their kid’s cannabis crops. It’s a taboo, so it’s a nice example for my parentals. It’s the sort of job announcement that would make my dad sigh, that deep, resigned, dad-sigh. AND more important than the concern of stigma is that of safety. If you have crops, you are putting yourself between dangerous people and a thing that they like. I haven’t looked up the statistics, but I think it’s likely that weed farmers face a lot more hazards than artists do. Hazards meaning firearms.
A Cult Leader
Rationally, you know that every leader of every cult was at some point a child. A child with ambitions for power, domination, and brainwashing. And, unless they somehow charmed their parents into joining their cults, you know that those parents tried to find solace at the bottom of many a wine-jug. They kept their traps shut at the office Christmas party. They prayed to the higher power not to get in fights with their siblings at the holidays, because they KNEW that when it came to low blows their parenting would come under fire. They did their best and they could be anyone! So remind your parents exactly how lucky they are that this didn’t happen to them. You weren’t contacted by an alien angel, you just have a fire inside you which pushes you to dance! Unless you’re in the town from Footloose, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!
A Con Man/Woman/Person
Sure, maybe you wouldn’t tell your parents if you were a con. That seems to be against the nature of the thing, putting your job description out into the universe like that. But your parents know you definitely aren’t a con, because you sure as hell wouldn’t use a job as an artist as your cover. It wouldn’t explain an expensive lifestyle, because if you’re an artist who makes tons of money they’ll be expecting to see a lot of artistic output. Also, cons are criminals. They hurt people and take things that aren’t theirs all the time. Essentially, every lesson that your parents tried to bestow upon you was to help you not be a con. So your parents should just be happy that you aren’t a miscreant! I’m sure a drawn-out legal trial would be much more embarrassing for them than your gallery showcase of vaginal-themed sculptures.
See? They're really lucky that we all decided to put art above stability. Right? Right.