Conversations with Daughters
#2 — The teenager, after the middle school dance
Speaking to teenagers is a different brand of torture than conversing with younger kids. “Conversations” are generally reduced to probing with questions you perceive as coherent, and receiving monosyllabic answers that make you want to reach for an ice pick. (To be clear — for yourself, not them.)
The eye-rolling, and dramatic sighs are an added bonus, and come with no
extra cost…other than your sanity, that is. *
[picking her up, after]
Me: How was the dance?
Sydney: [happy smiles] It was fun.
[long pause]
Me: Did you dance?
S: Yeah.
Me: With any boys?
S: No.
Me: Was Jimmy there?[the boy crush]
S: No. I danced with Francis. [the best friend] But her boyfriend was crying.
Me: Why?
S: I don’t know. They weren’t talking. I had to help them. I fix relationships.
Me: Is this the new boyfriend?
S: Yeah. Francis has lots of boyfriends. She breaks up with them, then gets back together the next day. They call her a gardening tool.
Me: [what the wha?! My brain turtles along. I say nothing.]
S: [contemplating] Maybe she is. I don’t really know what that means.
Me: [a new dawn rises as I’m searching for words. Sydney never curses. How I’ve managed to birth a child that doesn’t is beyond me…]
S: A lot of girls were crying in the bathroom. That happens every time.
Me: [repeating slowly, since I’m still not up to speed] At every dance, girls are crying?
S: Yeah, and the boys too.
Me: Did you know these girls?
S: No. They were 7th graders and some 6th graders.
Me: Let me get this right. Every time there’s a dance, a bunch of girls are lined up in the bathroom, bawling their eyes out?
S: [shrugs, in that teenage everyone knows this way] Yeah.
Me: [still mostly lost] That sounds like a lot of drama. **
S: It is.
Me: [gives up trying to understand] So…what do you do?
S: I just dance. ***
*Sydney declared some time ago (before turning 13) that she would not be a teenager, because they are stupid, and say bad words. Which of course means every time I’m really irritated with her, I refer to her as such. Which makes me wonder if I’ve ever really moved past that angsty, hormone-fueled stage of growth myself… Hmm.
**It seems I haven’t missed much by not attending any middle school dances.
***More importantly, I wish I could bottle her innocence.
