Musings on...Parenting Fails
I May Have Forgotten to Teach My Kid a Few Things
I have never been a precious parent. I have always been pretty chill, trying to balance my care for my children with common sense. I was committed to never being a preening, overprotective mother. People have survived for millennia; on my worst day I can’t possibly be the worst mom out here. Even our pediatrician noted that I was the calmest new mom she had ever seen. “I am pretty sure I won't kill her” was my response-and I really meant it. I do not know if the doctor was sure of me, but she did not reprimand or report me. Truth is, I could be a more lax parent because my husband did not share my Matthew McConaughey-ish style of parenting. He was Mr. Safety, placing pillows on every firm surface in the house. If we were on the bed, there were pillows surrounding us just in case I decided to play roll a newborn. If I sat on the couch, the back cushions were removed and placed on the floor, a soft landing in preparation for the eventual collapse of my spine which would, of course, cause me to slide to the floor with the baby in my arms. In his mind, such scenarios were plausible and completely reasonable.
That early childhood irrational precaution pales in comparison when faced with your child’s senior year, particularly your FIRST kid’s senior year. That was the year my husband and I switched demeanors and delusions. I have described my daughter’s senior year as the most awesome AND awful year of my life. It was wonderful seeing her move toward a new life adventure until I realized that her new adventure might take her away from us. An unreasonable mental countdown began. Is she prepared? Have I taught her everything (literally everything in the world?). Is she prepared to live away from me? Did I helicopter too closely? Is she resourceful enough? Is she streetwise enough? Is she too naïve, too trusting? Is she able to recognize a fraud, a snake, bad people? Can she stand up for herself? Eventually, you ease into the idea of your child going into the big, imperfect world and just as you begin to feel like you can handle it, your brilliant child does something that makes you question her brilliance AND everything you did (or did not do) for the prior 17 years.
Lost Lesson #1, The Driving Lesson
There is a brief period in Florida when you do not need air conditioning. Then, the temperature changes drastically. One such humid day, my daughter returned from school positively glowing. Not from a new trendy Tiktok approved bronzy highlighter or excitement, but actual sweat.
MBD (My Beloved Daughter): Mom, you need to check the A/C in your car
Me: That seems odd, it’s not working?
MBD: No. It was the longest car ride from school EVER. I hit every stop light between school and home. I turned the air as low as it would go. I must take a shower-my jeans are stuck to my body.
While she went to peel herself out of her jeans, I went to the car. My car is older, so the AC might need a checkup. The air comes at me at full force, but it is just warm air blasting in my face. I look to the right and press the button with the snowflake symbol. You know, the one that turns on the AC. The blast becomes instantly frigid and refreshing. I sigh in relief-no car repair needed. Then, I sat back-did my daughter NOT hit the button that turns on the AC? Is this my fault that my child just steamed herself in 90-degree heat for 13 miles? Shouldn’t she have known this from riding in the car for the last 17 years of her life? Is she not as brilliant as I thought? Was it my job to show her this button at some point during our driver’s training sessions? Can I, in good conscience, allow her to leave home? If she goes to school in Florida, will she risk daily dehydration because she does not know the snowflake icon means cool air? If she goes to school up North, will she drive around with frosted windows because she does not realize the button with wavy lines inside the square activates the defrost?
Lost Lesson #2, The Science Lesson
Before we knew much about COVID, most medical experts could agree that boosting your immune system was advisable, even as we stayed in our familial bubbles. Our doctor recommended Vitamins C, D and Zinc. The Vitamin D in the pantry were high IU capsules, so only 1 was needed per week. I declared Sunday our ‘immunity day’ and everyone took the high-octane Vitamin D along with their dailies. One Saturday night, our daughter came home from work, announcing she could not smell or taste. Crap!!! It was 48 hours before we could get an appointment for a test. The next day, I asked my daughter if she had taken the recommended vitamin regimen. She mentioned with immense pride that she had taken all her vitamins religiously for the past 3 days.
Me: Do you mean that you have taken Vitamin D every day this weekend? The D is only one per week. The nurse LITERALLY wrote 1x on the cap in big black Sharpie. How did you completely miss that?
MBD: I thought that was the instruction for you, not for me.
Me: Are you serious? Did you really take one every day this weekend?
MBD: Yes, last 3 days, right on track.
Me: Little Girl, if I Google the symptoms for Vitamin D poisoning and it lists loss of taste and smell, I’m going to wrestle you. This is the kind of behavior that makes me think maybe you are not ready to move away from home.
MBD: I’m going to my room to start quarantining just to be safe for you guys.
Me: Thank you for looking out for our safety. I think we need to work harder at keeping YOU safe.
I did, in fact, Google the symptoms for Vitamin D poisoning and the test confirmed she had COVID. She remained in quarantine with the mildest symptoms possible, thank goodness. I have convinced myself that her symptoms were so mild because her body, saturated with Vitamin D, just could not take on another pathogen, but our doctor would neither confirm nor deny my theory. As I monitored her for those 10 days of quarantine, I wondered: is this the child that I raised-one that would not read instructions, particularly on medicine? If this parenting fail was on me, I can’t possibly allow her to leave with so much as Tylenol in a first aid kit. Have I doomed her to a life of me monitoring her medicine with one of those plastic pill dividers from the pharmacy? At this point in her life, she has only used vitamins-what if she needs to take something stronger, like aspirin?
Lost Lesson #3, AKA The One that Hurts the Most
I came home from work; my husband and MBD met me at the door.
Husband: Honey, do you know that your daughter does NOT know who Jay-Z is?
Me: What do you mean she doesn’t know who Jay-Z is? Of course, she does.
Husband: Okay, she didn’t know that Jay-Z is a rapper.
Me: Wait, what? MBD, if you didn’t know he was a rapper, who did you think he was?
MBD I just thought he was Beyonce’s husband.
Simultaneously, my proudest and saddest moment. I was charmed, almost gleeful, that she saw Beyonce as the star of this power couple. That was cute. But just as I began to hum ‘to the left, to the left’ I realized that my daughter did not know history. Not just any history, but hip-hop history. African American cultural history. The history of her parents' youth, the story and soundtrack of the generation that came before her. How does she not know who laid the foundation for Drake, for the Weekend, who opened the door for the possibility of a Justin Timberlake or a Justin Bieber, even? How could I send her into the world without a musical link to my life? My husband and I held our heads in shame, but I’m blaming him for this one. Dads are the one responsible for the family soundtrack, right? Dads are the ones that sing horribly in the car, butchering lyrics. Dads are the one that don’t allow anyone to touch the record player/stereo system/CD player (choose from your generation-appropriate apparatus). I cannot think of my father without hearing the Commodores. Whatever, this one is not on me.
Somehow, our beautiful and brilliant daughter managed to survive her senior year and her parents. She is safely ensconced in her first year of college and she is doing fine, despite my overblown concern of what she may or may not know, what I may or may not have taught her. She is resourceful and independent, skillfully managing her classes and social life. So far, she has managed to avoid the snakes, frauds, and bad people. She has found an excellent group of friends, mentors, and advisors to surround herself with. We have one more brilliant child with us at home, but I am getting back to the laid-back mom I once was, trying not to be too precious about it, not reading too much into any one situation or conversation.
For the moms or dads walking into this exciting (excruciating) senior year, learn a little something from my folly. The kids are fine: you have made it this far and the kids are still alive, so you win. We showed that nosey pediatrician, am I right?