Teen Time

Love the child, not necessarily the behavior. Thus the mantra of the dad of teenagers, girls especially, but boys too.

From Thing 1 come the eye-rolls and exclamations that I neither know anything nor am capable of learning what's important whether it is about match, science, writing, clothing, music or what's good and what's dangerous in possible liaisons with potential boyfriends. From Thing 2 comes the sullen sulkiness that marks burning hostility to even the best of suggestion. No, screamed, shrill dramatic "I hate you"s and slammed doors. But I suppose I'll have to face those as well ... there are too many teen years left.

When I read there's a girl out there whose dad doesn't go to her soccer games and she wants him to know it hurts that he doesn't talk to her, all I can think is how to get in touch with the anonymous she and have her talk to my daughters. I'd love to talk with them — if only they could find the time and actual patience to listen to me and talk (quietly) back and only to me, not at the same time to their cell friends and IMfriends and textfriends and probably other electronic friends I can't identify.

I suppose it's good to learn that I am not alone, that every teenage girl (and boy) has within their job description the task of trying to grind dad into the ground and expecting him to listen up and respond in her best interest. But even as misery may love company, it's still miserable.

Natch, it could be worse. There are those dads who are in court fighting another adult related to their child to get time for their kids and those who have given up and have to be reminded what it is important.

But it's painful. I wonder how bad it will get when I look at these as "the good old days."