Well, I’ll say it’s probably not going to be Happy Time around here for a while.

OR:

A Very Special Possumblog Late Night Edition--Suburban Teenage Love Trauma

Whatever works best, I suppose. Certainly started out auspiciously enough. Got to T’ville and picked up my laundry and dry cleaning, then swung on over to Grandmom’s to pick up the kinder.

Greeted at the door by Oldest and Middle Girls, excitedly gushing about an anniversary. Whatever--I was on a mission--namely, to get them and their stuff back to the house as fast as possible so they could get to work finishing their homework and so I could start supper. Usual pace of molasses as they sluggishly put on shoes and gathered books into their backpacks, but was gratified to see that Mominlaw had fixed us a casserole for supper.

One thing out of the way. Yippee!

OH, and this anniversary thing came up again--seems this is now the one-month anniversary of Oldest and her current beau “going out.” “Going” and “out” both being highly malleable and ductile terms, especially when applied to early teenagers; and even more when the reality of their outgoing has been a couple of visits to each other’s houses. And the fact that they haven’t gotten together at all since Labor Day. And that he didn’t call during the recent school outage.

Being a guy, I sensed that something might be afoot, but being a dad, I knew it best to keep my mouth shut about this seemingly sudden lack of availability upon the part of our young suitor. Never want to be accused of ruining anyone’s life or anything.

But, still, a whole month is a whole month, right? An auspicious thing, indeed.

Home then, deploy the troops to the dining room, kitchen, upstairs bedroom, and bathtub while I popped the casserole into the oven, schlepped the dry-cleaning upstairs, hung it in the armoire, then noticed I had two messages on the answering machine. Odd. I checked right before I left work and there weren’t any.

First--a hang-up.

Second--“Uh, hi, uh, Ashley, this is Voice Cracking Boy [not his real name--Ed.] and um, well, I can’t really talk, so. Um, so long, but um…well, you might have uh been uh wondering? why I was ahmmmm acting so sorta sad or whatever today? and ummm well, my mom? since I’ve been so busy? well, she said we um didn’t need to go out anymore. Call me when you get this, or maybe I can call you back tonight?”

I played it back a couple of more times, with my hand over the speaker to muffle the noise, just to make sure of what I was hearing.

Made sure, alright.

And, no. Sorry. NO. Not like this, you don’t, little buddy.

I realize he’s a young’un, and I realize kids today are about as conscious of polite societal protocols as a waterbug would be. But. A phone message breakup? Sorry, dude. Not on my watch.

But what to do about this?

Do I tell her he called, and let her listen to the message to give her a heads-up? And what if he doesn’t call back? Do I wait and see if he DOES call, and then try to do damage control? Do I let her go on to school tomorrow and let him have a bloody meltdown in public? Hmm.

Well, the first inclination is to wait and let him walk into it tomorrow. He, having to confront her and then realizing she hasn’t heard his message, and then having to stammer and weasel his way out of it. Some satisfaction in that, I reckon. And part of this is purely out of a selfish motivation. Things have been tense as barbed wire around here lately, with Oldest acting out her frustrations on the rest of us. Tonight--with mom out of the area at school, the other kids here ready to rush in and start bothering her with requests for details--I could just see the screaming, stomping, door-locking, fit that could rise up out of that. No thanks--I am perfectly willing to let the state education authorities have to deal with that mess. Let ‘em earn that money.

So, as she finished her bath and I got supper put on the table, I gamed all of the likely scenarios and the possible strategy and tactic sets to employ in each instance. Food plated, drinks glassed, table napkined, blessing offered, and we set about eating when the phone rang.

Guess who! “Sorry, we just sat down to supper--you can call back in about thirty minutes or so.”

“Uhm, okay.”

Indeed, Sparky.

Hmm. Now. On to Possible Outcome #334b--“He Decides to Call, And I Will Be Left to Deal With the Storm.” According to my manual, that means that I have to make the decision again on whether or not to reveal the contents of the message, or let him twist in the wind.

Twist good.

But then, how to explain the reasons for not telling her ahead of time? A combination of plays here--

Page 1, Section 1--“Never regret bidding good riddance to a boy who won’t look you in the eye and tell you the truth.” She needed to hear it from him, not the answering machine.

Page 1, Section 2--“Boys never tell the truth.”

Page 2, Section 2a--“Boys are only after one thing.”

Page 56, Section 6--There is a very crude saying, not suitable for mixed company or for heart-to-heart father-daughter chats, but basically it goes like this: “Women control 99% of the money, and 100% of the [entertainment.--Ed.]” In essence, girls have all the cards. They can hold forever, and have, like, five or six hands, each full of four aces if anyone ever calls them. They win every time--as long as they know they can win. The only problem is too many girls get overcome by the bluff--see, every guy is dealt a crap hand in life, and the successful ones know how to bluff best. Which is really sort of pitiful and difficult if you’re a guy, but a danged fine idea if one of the girls happens to be MY DAUGHTER.

So, I decide to see what happens, and let her be as surprised by his lack of couth as I was.

7:30, phone rings. Hand the handset to Oldest, who, still thinking happy thoughts, happily skips off to her room to happily chat.

7:40, she stalks into the room as I am typing this missive, and proceeds to the answering machine. “Did he…” “Yes--I’m erasing the message right now.”

Well, okay, then. But then, stop.

I told her to wait a minute before she walked off. I patted the bed and told her to sit down for a minute, and we had a darned good talk. One of the few in which she really listened to me.

Things Daddy said?

Do you REALLY think he was being up front with you? (She said probably partially--he is busy with things. She did note that she, too, was just as busy, and that it never concerned her much. I didn’t buy it--it’s not like they did THAT much together in the last month, after all. And I do know how guys are.)

Never think you have to accept not being told the truth, and told to your face, while being looked in the eye.

Nor that you have to accept a coward as a friend.

That he was still a young man, and had some things to learn about how to treat another person, especially one in whom he had professed an interest.

That she never had to think that her worth was somehow only validated by the affection of a boy.

That her value as a person came from inside her, not in what someone else thought of her.

That she had the opportunity to grow and be the more mature person--not being cruel or mean to him in return, not returning injury for injury, but letting go and moving on to something better.

That 14 is still plenty young not to have to worry so much about who is dating whom this week.

That the reality of their “going out” hadn’t really been THAT much of a relationship.

That emotion quickly clouds the intellect.

And that she was a beautiful, smart young lady, whose parents and brother and sisters love her very much, and who, deep inside--away from all the smart-mouthed backtalk and melodrama--was actually a very sweet and loving person, who deserved to hold out for someone worth her time.

She understood. Somewhere in that insane mind of adolescence, she understood that such was a part of life, and a part of growing up. I have no idea if, having that understanding, that she will have the good sense to heed my advice. People are funny, and even ones that are taught right will sometimes eschew what is right for what isn’t.

But she’ll at least have heard what’s right, and heard it from someone who loves her very much, and hates to see her trust be abused. I guess she’s better off that a lot of kids.

I hope.

And now, Mom’s due home any minute--time to hear how her class night went, and for the reliving of the conversational flurry of the early evening.

Never a dull moment, eh?
posted by Terry at 8:55:00 PM