Friday, September 30, 2005
Life with Teenage Daughters
My entire life I have been around women of varying ages. I grew up in a family with a mom and two sisters and am currently the husband of a wonderful woman and the father of two terrific daughters. With this background, one would think I would be some kind of expert on women, right? Wrong! How could I be? I’m a guy.
I can’t even figure out my teenage daughters. As a man, I am not capable of understanding what goes on inside any female mind. Often, in my sincere efforts to help my daughters, I will ask perfectly logical questions or make reasonable recommendations. These are frequently met with an eye roll or with a look suggesting the discovery of an incredibly offensive odor (my personal favorite).
For example, my oldest daughter likes a boy. No, let me rephrase that–she adores a boy. But rather than doing anything about it, she prefers to admire him from afar. I, while not all that crazy about the prospect of my daughters dating in the first place, make a genuine effort to help. “Just say hi to him,” I suggest. What I get in return is the aforementioned look. I tell her that if she waits too long, he’ll find a girlfriend and then where will she be then? Does my input help? I’m not sure it even registers. She continues to believe that this boy, who has received no indication that she has the slightest interest in him, will pick up on signals too subtle to be picked up on the most sensitive Richter Scale. And we all know how well teenage boys do with subtleties.
Of course, my youngest daughter is no easier to reason with. We’ll be getting ready for church and she’ll come out of her room, strike a pose, and ask, “What do you think?” Usually, her outfits are great, but occasionally she’ll come out looking like she not only got dressed in a blackout but that she chose her clothes then as well. Very tactfully I’ll tell her why the outfit doesn't work and suggest that she find something else, even making recommendations for other articles of clothing that will go with something she's already got on and that would be more appropriate or appealing. At this point her demeanor changes from happy-go-lucky to one equating with that of the newest and most depressed member of the broken hearts club. She'll slink back into her room which is no longer large enough to contain her gloom and start over. When she finally comes out of her bedroom again, she has, of course, taken none of my suggestions, but is instead wearing something entirely different. Again, she poses the dreaded question. After repeating this a few times in one morning, I'm thinking, "Why do you ask if you're not going to take my advice anyway?"
Life with teenage daughters isn't always difficult; in fact, there are many nice moments. And I've learned to accept that understanding them isn't a prerequisite to loving them. And that's good, because I don't think I'll ever understand them; but I'll always love them.
I can’t even figure out my teenage daughters. As a man, I am not capable of understanding what goes on inside any female mind. Often, in my sincere efforts to help my daughters, I will ask perfectly logical questions or make reasonable recommendations. These are frequently met with an eye roll or with a look suggesting the discovery of an incredibly offensive odor (my personal favorite).
For example, my oldest daughter likes a boy. No, let me rephrase that–she adores a boy. But rather than doing anything about it, she prefers to admire him from afar. I, while not all that crazy about the prospect of my daughters dating in the first place, make a genuine effort to help. “Just say hi to him,” I suggest. What I get in return is the aforementioned look. I tell her that if she waits too long, he’ll find a girlfriend and then where will she be then? Does my input help? I’m not sure it even registers. She continues to believe that this boy, who has received no indication that she has the slightest interest in him, will pick up on signals too subtle to be picked up on the most sensitive Richter Scale. And we all know how well teenage boys do with subtleties.
Of course, my youngest daughter is no easier to reason with. We’ll be getting ready for church and she’ll come out of her room, strike a pose, and ask, “What do you think?” Usually, her outfits are great, but occasionally she’ll come out looking like she not only got dressed in a blackout but that she chose her clothes then as well. Very tactfully I’ll tell her why the outfit doesn't work and suggest that she find something else, even making recommendations for other articles of clothing that will go with something she's already got on and that would be more appropriate or appealing. At this point her demeanor changes from happy-go-lucky to one equating with that of the newest and most depressed member of the broken hearts club. She'll slink back into her room which is no longer large enough to contain her gloom and start over. When she finally comes out of her bedroom again, she has, of course, taken none of my suggestions, but is instead wearing something entirely different. Again, she poses the dreaded question. After repeating this a few times in one morning, I'm thinking, "Why do you ask if you're not going to take my advice anyway?"
Life with teenage daughters isn't always difficult; in fact, there are many nice moments. And I've learned to accept that understanding them isn't a prerequisite to loving them. And that's good, because I don't think I'll ever understand them; but I'll always love them.
Labels: life with teenage daughters, mystery, opposite sex
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