You betcha I’m a jerk.

I have been keeping up with Dr. Weevil’s travails with trying to wrestle the pig (i.e. his battle of wits with an operative of the Republican Party out to discredit the antiwar movement), and it has been quite entertaining in its own odd little way. I occasionally get so fed up that I will comment on the membership of the Idiot Movement in America, but after a while the barrel gets full of shot-up fish and starts leaking all over the floor and makes a big mess.

And why bother with people I don’t know, when I have my own built-in monument to the psychopathy of victimhood in the form of a twelve year old daughter. I simply don’t have the energy to expend on others when I must spend it at home, or in the car on the way to school. The only thing is, when you’re twelve, there is some hope that you will grow out of this. If you still act like this when you’re out of college and supposedly an adult, well, you’re pretty pitiful.

Anyway, as always, I made my pass through the house this morning trying to get everyone up and dressed and out of the house. Oldest Kid is always the hardest to wake up—“But I’m tiiiiiiiiired.” (Example One of the Attitude Which Must Change.) “Hey, we’re all tired, but your sisters and brother are all awake getting ready. Get up.” Some mornings are okay, some are set-piece battles. This morning was battle.

Go back—covers are over head. “Get up.” Go back—sprawled across bed. “Get up.” Go back—half dressed, reading book. “Get finished.” On and on. “Oh yeah, be sure to get your clothes out of the bathroom floor and put them in the hamper.” Stony glare. (Example Two of the Attitude Which Must Change.) “Hey, it wasn’t me that put ‘em there.”

Finally she’s dressed and I’m trying to get everyone downstairs—little ones run go kiss Mama, I give her a smooch, still no Oldest. Go back—standing in room staring at floor. “Come on, we gotta git. Go kiss Mom.” Other kids pile down stairs, start getting backpacks, picking up portable breakfast to eat in car because we’re running late. Still no Oldest.

Go back up the stairs, hear tape still playing in her room, reach top of steps and hear rustling in Baby and Middle Girls’ bedroom. “HEY, get outta there, radio off, clothes in hamper and let’s GO!” She appears from room holding arm stiffly by side. “What are you doing in there?”

“I needed to get something.”

“What?”

“I was going to ask Catherine for something.”

“What?!—and what you got in your hand over there?”

Ah. A folded up five. “Ineededmoneyforthebookfair-andI’mnotstealingitfromher-Iwasgoingtoaskherforit…” Whoa. Whoa. “WHOA!”

“You don’t steal money from your little…” “I’M NOT STEALING IT! I WAS GONNA ASK HER LATER!!” (Example Three of the Attitude Which Must Change.)

“Give.” I go put it back in the tall crayon bank it came out of. In the meantime, all I hear is “WHAAAAAAAAA! Ooo-HOO-hoo-hoo! AAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhhhhh! after she stormed back into her room.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if you were GOING to ask later—you ask first…and anyway, what about your money?!”

Each of the kids has a similar tall crayon bank into which go the numerous dollars and pennies from grandparents and Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Ashley has had hers for twelve years. A few years back we counted it and there was over $500 in it then. Probably close to a thousand by now.

“IT’S TOO HARD TO GET THE PLUG OUT OF THE BOTTOM!!”

I was just dumbfounded.

“Well, it’s too late now, we’ve got to go. Get your stuff and get those clothes put in the hamper and let’s go!”

“BUT I WANTED A BOOK AT THE BOOK FAIR AND YOU WOULDN’T GIVE ME ENOUGH MONEY!!!!

Monday morning she had asked for money for the book fair at school. I had a ten and two ones. I gave her the ten. “That enough?” She nodded yes. First time I had heard it wasn’t enough.

“Whatever. You don’t need to take it from your sister. Clothes. Hamper.”

She continued her loud moaning ululating crying and stomped into the bathroom. I stood there at the landing, she stood in the middle of the bathroom floor. BWWWAHHHHHhoo-hoohoo-hoo…snort…AHHhhhoo-hick-hoo-hoo.

“Hamper.”

She twirled around and stomped off through out bedroom to our bathroom where the big hamper is. Reba just looked at her. Ashley threw the clothes in the hamper and turned around to come back out. “Kiss your mama.” Tiny peck and she flew past me.

Reba whispered, “What’s going on?" I filled her in and she just rolled her eyes. I gave her another smooch and headed downstairs, where the other kids were eliciting even louder screams of protest and anguished yowls by asking Ashley what was going on.

“She’s mad!” “Uh-huh. Let’s saddle up, we gotta go.” Ashley had thrown herself into the floor of the dining room to cry.

“Get UP and let’s GO!”

The other kids tumbled out of the garage to the van and Ashley followed bawling like a branded calf. I got the garbage can and rolled it to the curb. BWAAAAAAAAHaa-hoo. Went back in and got the recycle box and took it to the curb. Uhhhhhhuhhhhhuhh…snort…humhoo.

Unlocked the doors, the little kids jump in and settle into their places …sSNORT…snnsss…hoo and Oldest climbed into the front seat. We roll out of the driveway and she starts back up…

“YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING! I NEVER have any money for the things I want! And there were a three books there that I wanted and didn’t have enough MONEY! And there were three, and they were about OTHER COUNTRIES!

“Why didn’t you just ask us!?”

“BECAUSE YOU WOULD HAVE SAID NO! YOU ALWAYS SAY NO! ALLOFTHEOTHERKIDS’ PARENTS BUY THEM ANYTHING THEY WANT AND YOU DON’T EVER LET ME HAVE ANYTHING! (Example Four of the Attitude Which Must Change.) THEY WERE TEN DOLLARS APIECE AND I COULDN’T AFFORD THEM BECAUSE I ONLY HAD TEN DOLLARS!”

Oh good grief. This? This is what it’s about?

“Well, first, you don’t know what I would say without asking me; second…”

“YES. I. DO!”

“Huh-hmm. Second, we’ve been through this before about a billion times that I don’t automatically say ‘No,’ no matter what you may believe. Third, I really could not care less what other kids’ parents give them—if they were my kids, they’d get the same thing you got. Fourth, you have more things than you could ever need, and more than just about every other child in the whole world.”

That whooshing sound is the words exiting on the other side of her head as they pass through unimpeded by reality. You get the idea someone might be a little bit spoiled? Uh-huh.

“We have bills to pay, and there are three other kids in this van we have to take care of too. You know that.”

“YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT! YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT! IS IT A CRIME THAT I CAN’T EARN ANY MONEY!?!?!”

Good night a’living. It’s like reading some rant on MetaFilter. Non-sequitur? Why, that don’t matter none. Logic? Truth? Useless.

“What?”

“ IS. IT. A. CRIME. THAT. I. CAN’T. EARN. MY. OWN. MONEY!?”

“Well, gee, no, you’re just twelve, no one expects you to have to earn money. But listen here, one more time, if you need money, you ask Mom or Dad, and you don’t go get it from your sister. And why exactly if these three books cost ten dollars apiece did you only get five out of her bank?”

“YOU ARE SUCH A JERK!!!!”

Wow. That one sort of surprised me. The kids in the back let out a collective gasp, fearing that surely Big Sister was going to have the imprint of a big lumpy gold class ring across her speaker grille.

But, hey, truth is a defense to slander.

Yeah, I’m a jerk.

Because, when you’re twelve (or if you have some sort of ongoing adolescent psychosis beyond the age of about 15), anyone is a jerk who doesn’t do exactly what you want, when you want it done, because you demand it, because it’s not fair, because all the other kids do it.

Anyone is a jerk who expects you to be respectful, and patient, and follow the rules. You’re a jerk if you sit there and try to confuse the issue with facts. You’re a jerk if you can’t see how pitifully oppressed and mean you are to me, and everyone else gets to run and play and have fun. You’re a jerk when you lecture me about my responsibilities. I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t care who makes what money—I just know I don’t have any and I want it NOW. Jerk. Jerk!

“Ashley, I’m your parent, whether you like that or not. Do you really think that calling me a jerk is going to make a difference one way or the other about what YOU did? Do you think that the amount of money we spend on you is an indication of how much we love you? Do you really think calling me a jerk is going to help your case?”

Stony silence. Then…

“You gave me TWENTY DOLLARS last year, and only TEN this year—what’s it going to be next year—NOTHING?!”

“Hey, maybe so. I can’t predict the future—it might be nothing, it might be thirty. But acting this way is going to make it a lot harder on you. And if I did give you fifty, could you not just come back and say some other kid’s dad gave her a hundred?”

“WHY do you HAVE to be such A JERK!”

Ooh. Getting a little cockier now that the first one didn’t work. The kids were whispering furiously in the back about the meltdown. All of this conversation has now occurred within the length of about a half mile, from our house to the water tower.

“I just want ONE book and it cost $4.99 and I know you won’t give it to me.” Criminy. Back to that again.

“Hmm. I thought it was three at ten bucks a pop…Did you ask your mama?” Head nod yes. “And what did she say?”

“Nothing.” “When did you ask her?” Shrug.

“And when was the first time I knew anything about you not having enough money to get what you want?” More of the Smooth Sounds of Stony Silence.

“Isn’t this the first I’ve heard about it?” Jerk, always bringing up those darned jerky facts. “Have you said one word about it since Monday about it?” No.

“No.”

“Alllllllllllrighty then. Now let’s go back over a few things—when should you have said something?” Jerk. “Earlier.” “Who should you have asked first?” Jerk. “You or mom.” “Do you take things without asking FIRST?” JERK. Jerk, jerk, jerk. Clenched teeth, “No.” “Do you ask to take money from your sisters or brother?” Jerk. “No.”

The rest of the short ride to school was relatively quiet, aside from a few liquid sniffles and various comments from the Peanut Gallery. We finally get to the band room and the boiler starts getting stoked again. “Can I have some money?” Well, I say this for her, she certainly is the persistent sort.

We stop at the curb. “CAN I?” Bwa-… Bwa-… Waah... “Hop out. Have a good day.” Uuuuuuuughwwwhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa!!!!!

Oh good heavens above and earth below.

“Ashley, we are at school, and I really don’t think you want your friends to see you acting like THIS.” “Please let me have some money!” Jerk. “Well, as I recall, you said some awfully hurtful and mean-spirited things on the way over here, and you don’t seem too concerned about that.”

“I’m SORRY that I didn’t ask first…” Whoa, yet again lil’ horsey. “No, now, that’s not what I’m talking about. I seem to recall that you felt you should call me a jerk, not once, but TWICE, and not only that but say it right here in front of a backseat full of little children who look up to you as an example. I think someone is due an apology.” Jerk.

“I’m sorry I called you a jerk.”

“Okay. Now tell them that you’re sorry for setting a bad example.”

“I’m sorry I set a bad example.”

Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t we Jerk Boy? Yep. Sure am.

“Okay. Now apologize to Catherine for taking her money…” “I DIDN’T STEAL IT! I WAS GOING TO ASK…” “…for getting into her bank and not asking her first.”

“I’m sorry I got into your bank. Will you forgive me?” Little moptop nods yes.

“Now. That’s settled. But I want you to remember some things. You don’t get things by pitching fits and acting the fool. You show some respect for other people and their things. You understand that no matter how little you may think you have, you’ve been blessed with so much more than so many people in this world that you have absolutely no reason to complain or backtalk. I don’t care one bit about how much money other people have or the things they have—don’t expect me and your mom to try to keep up with the rich folks in this world. We can’t do it. We just can’t. But, we will always make sure you have what you need. You get treated just the same as the other kids in this family, we don’t play favorites, and no matter how many or how few things your mama and I give you, we still love you just as much as we love them. Here are five dollar bills. I worked hard to get them, and one day you’ll learn how dear that came. But for now, I want you to wipe your face off, get out of this van, do your school work and do your best. Okay?”

She wiped her face on a MacDonald’s napkin we had in the floorboard. She gathered her backpack and clarinet case and purse. “okay.” She stepped off onto the sidewalk and turned to close the door.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie, have a good day. See you tonight.”
posted by Terry at 1:34:00 PM