Sunday, November 07, 1999
Know-nothing' dad picks up a few gems from teens
BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
The Cincinnati Enquirer
I stopped knowing anything when the Kid Down the Hall turned 13. That was five months ago. Ever since, I've been leaking wisdom at a great rate. By Thanksgiving, I'll be a gourd.
This is how it works. I know this from advice cheerfully given by smug friends who've survived their children's teen-age years war-torn but wiser. Also, from personal experience. When I was 13, my parents didn't know anything, either.
I figure my downward spiral into know-nothingness will last the next eight or nine years, until the Kid Down the Hall is safely graduated from college and inflicting his own wisdom on society at large.
At the moment, I'm flailing. Thirteen is his age. Also, he informs me, my IQ.
“You need to understand there are consequences for everything you do,” I tell him.
“Whatever, dad.”
Tell me I am not alone. Assure me your kids were this way, too, and that they emerged from the darkness of baggy pants, skateboarding, bleached hair and bad music as the angels you once knew and loved.
Tell me you got smarter as they got older. Because right now, Whatever Man thinks I'm a turnip.
“You can't con me,” I begin, helplessly. “Because everything you're going to do, I already did. I've been where you're going.”
(That's great, Paul. The old “when I was your age” move.)
“Whatever, dad.”
“If you want more freedom, you have to earn our trust. To earn our trust, you have to be responsible for yourself. Accountable.”
All together now:
“Whatever, dad.”
I needed help, from the source. My wife teaches at Loveland High School. I asked her to fetch five kids from one of her classes. I would talk to them. I would seek their counsel. Because they are infinitely wiser than I (which isn't tough right now, apparently). I would pick their brains.
“Give me some advice on how to handle Whatever Man.”
Katie said, “Trust your child. They can be responsible. But they won't be unless you trust them to be that way.”
“Understand your kid's not going to be perfect,” suggested Lindsey. “Don't automatically condemn them. Explain honestly how you feel about something. Be open with them, they'll probably be open with you.”
I asked my wife for a reasonable mix of students, not the Bradys or Bonnie and Clyde. These kids were that. After half an hour with them, I felt good that the republic won't collapse when they inherit it.
“I don't want my parents to know what I do every moment of the day,” said Matt. “If I go to a party, they're like, "Well, what did you do there? Who'd you go with? Did you drive? What music did you listen to?'”
Strictly a need-to-know thing, I suggested.
“Exactly,” Matt said. “I think my parents know a few things. I just don't want to hear it every day.”
“Be straight when they ask you what you did as a teen,” Katie offered.
You're kidding.
“That shows you were a person once,” said Matt.
Once?
“Don't say "can't.' Can't is a bad word,” Lindsey said. “Say "shouldn't.' Or, "It'd be better if you did this.'”
Yelling doesn't work, they all said. Guilt, though. Guilt is good. Guilt is effective.
“When they're yelling, it works you up, too,” Matt said.
“What gets me is when they say, I'm disappointed in you,” said Katie.
“Or, "You've lost our respect,'” added Matt. “That's nasty. I hate that.”
Oooh. I'll keep that in mind.
They told me to allow Whatever Man to negotiate curfews and punishments. I won't do that. They said I should let him have parties at home whenever he wants. I might do that. But only if I get to play my Marvin Gaye records.
“What's a record, dad?”
“It's how we used to listen to music. We put them on turntables and played them with a needle. It was cool.”
“Whatever, dad.”
Paul Daugherty, an Enquirer sports columnist, writes a lifestyle column on Sunday. He welcomes your comments at 768-8454.
Enquirer columnist Paul Daugherty welcomes your comments at 768-8454.
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