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Knock, Knock: Conversations with My Teenage Daughter

April 13, 2016 by Seth Taylor

Conversations with My Teenage Daughter

Conversations with my teenage daughter, a 14-year-old post-millennial, often start with me knocking on her bedroom door. It usually doesn’t get better from there. Until it does.

Knock, knock

Me: Hey there.

Her: What.

Me: Can I come in?

Her: Do you need to?

Me: Yes.

Her: Want to take a minute and think about it first?

And that’s how many conversations with my teenage daughter end … without resolution.

+  +  +

Knock, knock

Her: (No answer.)

Me: I’m coming in, OK?

Her: I’d rather you didn’t.

Me: I don’t want to talk to you through a door.

Her: Really? Because I find it comforting.

+ + +

Knock, knock

(Opening my door and sticking my head in.)

Me: Hey. I need you to pick up your room, please.

Her: Why?

Me: Because it smells weird and we have company coming over later.

Her: Company won’t be coming in my room, will they?

Me: Please just clean up in here.

Her (looking around room): I’m pretty sure it looks fine. Plus, it’s my room. Don’t I get to decide how it should look?

Me: Not when there’s an odor involved.

Her (getting up from bed with a tremendous sigh): You know, this is SO typical. We were talking about it in Government Studies.  YOUR generation makes a mess and MY generation has to clean it up.

Me: That’s a really good point. But my generation didn’t leave an old banana under your desk for three days.

+ + +

Knock, knock

Me: Hey. What’re you up to?

Her: What? Why? Am I in trouble? What did I do now?

Me: You’re not in trouble. I just wanted to see what was happening up here.

Her: I’m actually really busy right now.

Me: You’re lying in bed looking at your laptop.

Her: It just so happens I’m having a really important conversation online. Could you close the door?

Me: In a minute. What’s the really important conversation you’re having?

Her (eye roll): Do you really need to know? I mean, is this information that you need to have in your day?

Me: If you’re talking to a 50-year-old man who’s pretending to be a 14-year-old gamer named Kylie, then yes. Yes, that is information I need to know.

Her: Oh my GOD. Be more paranoid.

Me: So who are you messaging with?

Her: Hannah.

Me: Oh. Hannah from school?

Her: YES, DUH.

Me: How is she?

Her: She’s great, except for the fact that her parents always barge into her room and invade her privacy.

Me: I see. Then I guess you guys have a lot to talk about.

Her: We do. Could you close the door, please?

+ + +

Knock, knock

Me: Hey. What’re you doing?

Her (focused on her laptop screen): Playing Undertale.

Me: No playing video games until after you do your math homework.

Her: Brad says he prefers us to do our homework in class.

Me: Who’s Brad?

Her: My algebra teacher.

Me: He lets you call him Brad?

Her: Yeah. He’s cool. He totally gets the fact that learning is a collaborative process and it’s better if everyone is on a first-name basis.

Me: Oh. Well. That is cool. And you’re saying he never gives you actual homework?

Her: He says that if we do math at home, we may not use the right methods that we do in class.

Me: You know, I can probably help you with it if you want. I was pretty good at algebra.

Her: Brad says parents aren’t able to understand the kind of algebra we do.

+ + +

Knock, knock

Me: Hey, there.

Her: Hey.

Me: I’m just checking in about your science project.

Her: What about it?

Me: Did you do it yet?

Her: Oh. Yeah. Mostly yeah.

Me: What do you mean “mostly”?

Her: It’s almost completely done.

Me: Great. That’s great to hear. How much is left to do?

Her: What do you mean?

Me: I mean, if we turn your science homework into a pie chart and we divide it up into the portion that’s done, and the portion that’s not done, what would it look like?

Her: You know, Dad, sarcasm isn’t productive.

Me: (Long pause.) Fine. Good point. So, how much of your science project have you done so far? Just walk me through the progress you’ve made.

Her: Welllllllll … I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I chose a topic.

Me: Great. That’s a great way to start. What’s your topic?

Her: Something about the Laws of Motion.

Me: O … K. So, what else have you done?

Her: I picked out the color of my poster board.

Me: And?

Her: And that’s it.

Me: That’s it? Isn’t it due in two days?

Her: You can’t rush scientific discovery, Dad.

Me: You’re right. You can’t. You also can’t let distractions interfere with genius.

Her: Hey, what’re you doing?

Me: Nothing.

Her:  What are you doing? That’s my phone.

Me:  Don’t mind me. I’m just taking your computer and your phone and your iPad downstairs for a while.

Her: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Me: See you in a couple hours.

Her: OHMYGAWDTHATISSOUNFAIR. I was just about to get back to work on my project!

Me:  Totally unfair. Bye now.

Her:  DAD! Why do you have to be so MEAN!!

Me: I know. You’re right. I’m awful. I’m Darth Vader. See you in a couple hours.

+ + +

Knock, knock

Her: Come in.

Me: Is that a joke?

Her: No. You can come in.

Me (inching into the room slowly): You … you didn’t install a trapdoor or anything in here, did you?

Her: No.

Me: OK. Just checking. (Sitting down next to her on her bed.) You sound sorta down.

Her: I am, I guess.

Me: What’s going on?

Her: Nothing, I guess. I mean, nothing major. I was just texting with Hannah.

Me: How’s she doing?

Her: Not great. Her parents are separating.

Me: Oh. That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.

Her: Yeah. I mean, it’s OK. She basically knew it was going to happen, but they just made the decision today.

Me: Does she sound OK?

Her: I think so. I mean, I’m sure she’s not, but you know.

Me: I know. It’s not easy.

Her: I hate it when my friends go through hard stuff.

Me: I know.

(We silently sit for a while.)

Her: I’m sorry I can be cranky sometimes.

Me: It’s OK. We all get cranky.

Her: I don’t know if it’s hormones or just my personality.

Me: I vote hormones.

Her: Yeah.

Me: Trust me. You’re fine.

Her:  OK.

(Pause.)

Her: Can we watch a movie tonight after dinner?

Me: Sure. Maybe we could watch Finding Nemo again.

Her:  Yeah.

Me:  You want some time to yourself before then?

Her: Yeah.

Me: OK. Come on down when you’re ready.

Her: I will.

Me:  You’re my favorite human.

Her:  You’re my favorite human, too. Love you.

Me (closing her door behind me, heart quietly melting):  Love you, too.

+ + +

Photo for Conversations with My Teenage Daughter: Kevin McKeever

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Filed Under: relationships Tagged With: daughters, growing up, talking, teens / tweens

About Seth Taylor

Seth Taylor is a teacher and writer in Southern California, where he lives with his husband and teenage daughter, who knows much more than him. About everything.

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Heidi says

    April 14, 2016 at 12:26 am

    Love it!

    Reply
  2. Adam G says

    April 18, 2016 at 1:00 pm

    Awesome! I have a 7 year old boy, and his bedroom door is not yet allowed to be closed. I am sure we are getting there! Our banter is already surprisingly similar.

    I was hoping for a “Do you want to build a Snowman” joke in there, but you were probably right to leave it out!

    Reply
  3. Minn says

    April 21, 2016 at 11:43 am

    So glad to see you publishing again – hope to see more

    Reply

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