That’s the word my wife and I use most these days when discussing our 12-year-old daughter. We read parenting articles and strategize how best to deal with angry responses and other “tweenerisms.”
We do our best to stay calm when she ramps up and relives her toddler days, but with a greater mastery of the English language.
She is a missile. And we, at best, have a slim chance here and there to nudge her and redirect her flight path, helping her miss buildings and mountains – and us.
Gone in the explosion is my fantasy of having control over her direction – of logical father/daughter talks and sharing any wisdom of life I think I might have.
Nature vs. Nurture? Nature is winning. And hormones.
Don’t get me wrong, we love her and feel grateful to have her. But for me this stage has been the hardest.
As I’m an idiot, I thought it would be different – smooth – we’d talk out things. I underestimated the emotion of youth, her brain still forming, resulting in firecracker responses and logic crushed to death.
Delusional, I was, that we would get a pass on this stage.
Worst of all, she’s more like me than my wife. That scares me. All of the mistakes I made in my youth. I hope she can steer clear of the same behavior.
Oh, Universe, don’t let her be the same. Let her be smarter.
Despite the more challenging moments, there are the ones that remind me that it’s all worth it. For those, I’m grateful. Because without them, we’d let the wolves raise her – I’m kidding. Wolves would eat her. Kidding again.
One day, she might read this and I’m going to get my ass kicked. Oh, well, I’m used to it.