“You could just… not talk.”
— Beth, age 13, responding to a snarky comment from her 16yo brother
Me: “I can’t believe you don’t appreciate this music. I’ve obviously failed as a parent.”
Beth: [age 13] “You haven’t failed as a parent. At least not because of this.”
Me: “Oh, so there are other reasons I’ve failed?”
Beth: “Maybe.”
Me: “I’d better go read parenting books. Maybe the library has a copy of ‘The Dummy’s Guide to Parenting Teenagers’ or something.”
Beth: “At this point, if I caught you reading that book, it might be a sign that you failed.”
Me: “So you’re saying it’s too late for me?”
Beth: “You just gotta make the best of it from here, Dad.”
[Scene: we’re repainting rooms in the house. I’m working with Beth, age 13, and put on some music…]
Beth: “What is this?”
Me: “This is from an opera by Mozart.”
Beth: [rolling eyes] “Who listens to opera?”
Me: “Lots of people listen to opera. Just listen to her voice and appreciate its beauty.”
Beth: “I’m supposed to appreciate this?”
Me: “If you let yourself, yes. Take a minute to broaden your cultural horizons.”
Beth: “It sounds like she’s screaming, but with a little more style.”
Me: “Teenagers! Sheesh. Is there anything you don’t complain about?”
Beth: …
Me: …
Beth: [laughing] “Give me a minute.”
Me: “Oh, good heavens.”
Beth: “Zucchini. I don’t complain about zucchini.”
Me: “I’ve heard you complain about zucchini.”
Beth: “OK, OK: well-cooked zucchini. I don’t complain about that.”
Me: “Well-cooked zucchini? That’s it?”
Beth: “And ponies. I don’t complain about ponies.”
Me: “When was the last time you saw a pony, in real life?”
Beth: “Um… probably six years ago.”
Me: “So, zucchini and ponies? Those are the only things you don’t complain about?”
Beth: “That is my current list. But, I reserve the right to change it at any moment.”
Me: [sighing] “Kids these days.”
[Scene: we’re repainting rooms in the house and have enlisted the kids…]
Mom: [demonstrating brushwork around some molding] “This part of painting is detail work. It requires a steady hand.”
Beth: [age 13] “Uhh… Maybe you shouldn’t ask a teenager to do it.”
Mom: “Anybody can do it. Just take it slowly and pay close attention.”
Beth: “Take it slowly? Pay attention? Like I said: maybe you shouldn’t ask a teenager to do it.”
Beth: “I’ve figured out my life plan.”
Me: “Wow, at 13? What is it?”
Beth: “Step 1: become a billionaire. Step 2: buy Rhode Island. Step 3: own all the sports cars I want.”
Me: “That’s it?”
Mom: “Maybe you should actually go to Rhode Island and see if you /want/ to buy it.”
Me: “I’m not sure the people there are interested in selling.”
Beth: “Fine. I’ll become a trillionaire. People will sell anything for the right amount of money.”
Mom: “You still should visit it first.”
Me: “Which sports cars do you want?”
Beth: “All of them.”
Me: “Like, nobody else gets to own one?”
Beth: “Oh, no, just one of each kind. Then I’ll drive them around Rhode Island.”
Mom: “Well, it’s a plan.”
Me: “I sort of think you need a plan to become a billionaire or trillionaire, but yeah.”
Beth: “Bah! That’s the easy part.”
Me: “You show us how, kid.”
Mom: “We’re behind you 100%.”