The rules of adulthood for those inhabiting the upper echelons of Connecticut nepotism are a strange puzzle. Required to mature ahead of their age for parental dinner parties and parlor tricks, it seems that a reversion to adolescence is only inevitable at some point. Case in point: the temper tantrum that Christopher Buckley ("Christo" to his dad) has woven into a tale of grieving his beloved "mum and pup," which appeared on the cover of the New York Times magazine and which will be available in extended memoir book form soon.

For most of us mortals, objectionable family members must be dealt with through abject ignorance or godforsaken acceptance, but with an abundant estate in Connecticut and a widely known name, petty grievances against your folks are the stuff of book deals and Times mag cover stories.

It is 2009, and as the placement of his cover story shows, someone out there is still shocked and amazed to learn that famous people, known for some outsized skill, talent, or personality type, may not manage the same caliber of excellence in their personal lives.

At least the Pattis (Hearst and Davis) had the good sense to reserve the bulk of their parental rebellions for their younger years.

Christo, spawn of one of our last living legends, waited until his father's expiration to divulge the facts that the esteemed William F. Buckley traveled too much and his mother Pat had the nerve to express her opinions at the dinner table (in front of Kennedys, no less!).

Unsatisfied with his status as a well-known and admired satirist and child of someone occupying the unusual position of being worshiped by the right and widely tolerated by the left, Christopher Buckley, a 56-year-old man, is posing as an arbiter of etiquette who blows directly past his own violations.

While documenting the inconsequential disputes in his three-person nuclear family, he does little more than reveal himself to have an imposing memory that serves more harm than good. After mouthing the egotistical words "I forgive you" to his mother on her deathbed and then proving that he has not with this subsequent treatise, Christo has vaguely documented some insults that she may have said and accused his father of bringing back inappropriate trinkets from trips to South Africa and elsewhere. (Apparently a leopard skin rug is no condolence when you've been sick and specifically asked for a short hair pony).

Simultaneously indebted to and resentful of the charmed life into which he was born, it's hard to read his treatise on mum and pup without noting the unusual character of this celebrity childhood. Aside from the name, status and wealth bestowed upon him at birth, it appears that his parents actually cared for the bugger.

His religious father occasionally expressed interest in wanting his son to share his faith (how unusual!) and his mother tended toward exaggeration.

In return, they repeatedly received a litany of etiquette infractions from their son (some in epistolary form that Pat Buckley had the good sense to leave unopened as she reached her declining years).

And yet, throughout his tiny spectrum of grievances, Christo neglects to acknowledge that if his parents actually followed his advice and kept their opinions to themselves in favor of polite interactions, they would neither have achieved their often hallowed status nor have bestowed upon Christo the past, current, and future currency that his name carries.

Meanwhile, the Buckleys managed to have more friends than most in politics, perhaps not despite, but on account of their freely available opinions.

The telling of the family saga so far reveals that probably the worst sin the Buckleys committed against their only child is refraining from having another one first, who most surely would have swatted all of this nonsense out of him before he reached adulthood.

Meghan Keane is a freelance writer happy she didn't have to start TheAwlWontPublishMe.tumblr.com. You can also find her here.