By Dad
The first skirmishes of a teen rebellion have broken out in our household.
Just last year, Dora saw me as her Agony Aunt. Now 13, she considers my advice to be as useful to her as a cellphone without bars (which, based on my experience with T-Mobile, is an actual product).
Questions Dora once answered with an interminable stream of sentences all beginning with, "And then ...." are now "intrusions" into her private life.
An example of what I'm up against came last Saturday in a Lower Eastside café we'd entered. Dora sat at the opposite end to protest something I'd said – though I had no idea what.
I covered more ground than the café's waiters and busboys combined as I rushed back and forth to see if she was ready to tip me to my verbal transgression.
Silent scowls indicated she wasn't.
It was like being in the dock of a medieval Star Chamber: no indictment, no witnesses, just the monarch's displeasure to declare the accused guilty.
My personal honor was saved only by the presence of Cathy, who, being only seven, is still "immature" enough to be happy sitting next to her dad.
The irony is that we'd entered the café solely to feed Dora ahead of her three-hour Chinatown school class, where strict rules permit little time to snack.
I didn't dare point out my goodwill for fear of being treated to an emphatic: "Why don't you leave then?"
Dora did warm up as we bade her farewell at the school. She smiled – right before she asked me for $20 to buy "supplies for a drama project."
In an amazing metamorphosis, she now eagerly explained that moderately priced Chinatown was the only logical place to shop for the items.
Such fiscal responsibility. I had no choice but to hand over the cash.
Expletive
One night, Dora treated me to a choice word (family newspaper spelling: @!#$) when I snapped that she'd not set the table for the evening meal.
I hadn’t technically assigned the task to her, but expected she'd see the necessity: I was arriving late from taking Penny (10) to swim training, and had yet to prepare dinner.
My point was: Why should I have to do all the cooking AND set the table?
Hers was: What am I, your clairvoyant slave?
My English grandmother would have reacted to Dora's "choice word" by threatening to wash out her mouth with soap and water. My Scottish grandmother practiced far scarier medicine. "I'll put your eye on a plate if you say that again," was her stock response to impudence.
I did what any 21st century parent does: I logged on to the Internet to search for a quick-fix.
One columnist recommended placing a week's ban on the offending teen's cell phone. I tweaked the advice and confiscated Dora's iPad – since taking away her phone would cause me as much grief if I weren't able to reach her when she's running late.
Alas, even my modified discipline backfired as Dora spent the week repeatedly demanding use of my Mac in order to complete a sudden stream of apparently "vital" and "immediately needed" research papers.
She also accused me of using the choice word “all the time” – and confidently insisted she was just following my example. The word may have slipped out from under my breath over the years. But "all the time" – again, declared guilty without proof.
Dora had another point to make: If I want to stop her using the word, I should take her out of school, because “everyone” uses it there.
Fine. Why don't we just move into a bubble?
Like the modern dad that I fancy I am, I'll admit I was a little snappy with my initial complaint. But I was no more grumpy than I've always been – proving that the rules have changed. Described as "sweet and caring" in her kindergarten report card, Dora is now sweet, caring and highly sensitive – at least when she feels her independence is being challenged.
But it's not all uphill (yet). The choice word has gone unrepeated in recent days – within my earshot, at least. And I’ve tried to soften the way I ask for chores to be done.
Still, discourse with this newly minted teen is like walking on eggshells. I’m dreading the day we have the problem times three: when Dora is 19, Penny is 16, and Cathy is 13.
