Thoughts like "It's finally over" and "we made it" shouldn't be coming to mind at
the close of a family vacation.
But after Laurel's parents were dropped off at their home and we sped toward ours, I heard
thoughts like those — and worse.
Our ten year old confessed to taking a pillow with her into the hotel bathroom and screaming
into it to vent the rage she felt by what she described as a constant assault (my words, not
hers) of the words "art" and "program," and the letters N, P, and R. This was undoubtedly
her grandmother's unintentional attack.
Kiddo's description brought a few things to mind.
The first is that my daughter may have started that war, in her eagerness to relate. I
seem to recall only two nights before she couldn't wait to tell her grandma all about the
YouTube channels she follows.
I know a little bit about YouTube. I can say that there's a difference between the knowledge
an adult can gain about YouTube from research and from other adults, and the knowledge an adult
can gain about YouTube from a "tweenager."
Don't think for a minute that grandma didn't consider taking a header off of that third floor
balcony. If there's one thing our little girl can do now, it's talk — seemingly free of the
bond between earth and man known as respiration.
(Laurel is careful to remind me that at some point in her teen years, kiddo is going to
think I'm stupid and won't talk to me at all.
At times I wonder if that will
happen soon.)
So I should work with our little girl to suggest that her grandmother was trying to relate,
much like how she was trying to relate to grandma about YouTube.
The second thing that came to mind was memories of summer dinners on my grandparents' back
porch, and my grandmother excitedly pointing out various birds as they visited the feeders in
the yard.
I was six. In 1975, I watched Batman on WXON-20 and Spider-Man on WKBD-50, both broadcast
out of Detroit, when the weather was good. On Saturday mornings, I was watching the Superfriends.
I was in second grade in 1975. Here's some second grade math for you: How many sh*ts did I
give about the birds in grandma's backyard?
The answer is zero.
Today, I am 47 years old. I have a backyard. Birds visit it. We even have a cardinal that
nests in a large burning bush at my back door. I know that bird is a cardinal because I watch
it, and because my grandmother taught me that birds that look like that one are cardinals. My
grandmother also taught me how to differentiate between the males and females.
For me, it was about timing. The timing to share grandma's joy about birds wasn't right for
me at six. Honestly, I probably still don't, to the level they brought her joy. But when I have
the time to watch them, I think about her fondly.
I need to be more mindful about that kind of timing. I know I jam all kinds of crap into my
daughter's head. (Laurel has taught her how to respond to me in a kind way that isn't outright
telling me to go play in traffic.) Some of it sticks.
Later on maybe she'll realize
that a lot of it stuck.
I'm not asking her to appreciate it now. Or ever, I guess.
So, bringing this back around... I have to think about the ways in which my daughter tries
to relate to me.
I've been playing a console game for awhile called DESTINY. For
reasons I can't explain, one of kiddo's other parents let her buy a copy of that game, and
it is her great hope that we two play it together.
I'm horrified by the idea. On
one hand, she's taken something that was really the only thing I had to myself for a while and
destroyed it. (Yes, there's a part of me that really looks at it that way.) And that happened
because her other dad seems to offer no guidance at all. I'm beyond offended. On the other hand,
this is a game that I feel is a bit advanced for her and her age. But, here we are. So to fill
her heart, I'm going to have to create a new character, I guess, and walk her through playing
this game. I already know I'm going to spend much more time explaining than I will actually
playing.
There is so much about this that I am really against; and maybe I can yet
find some other (acceptable) game instead. I just have to remember that the object of the
exercise is for her to be able to relate to me.
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