“Uh oh,” I mutter to myself. “Am I running late?” A quick glance at my watch reveals I’m right on time.
I turn down the music as my daughter hops into the car. “I could hear that music from a mile away!” she snaps. “You’re so cringe.”
If I had been blaring tunes from popular artists like Taylor Swift or Ed Sheeran, she might have been less bothered. But alas, I was immersed in the classic rock of Kansas, belting out “Carry On My Wayward Son.” How could anyone resist rocking out to that anthem? She was lucky I wasn’t drumming along on the steering wheel!
It seems that these days, it takes minimal effort to embarrass my 13-year-old. This wasn’t always the case. When children are younger, they revel in our silly antics; we are the fun parents. I fondly remember driving her to preschool, singing loudly to songs like “Under The Sea” or “I Like To Move It.” Eventually, as I introduced her to more sophisticated music, we’d jam to “It’s Tricky” or “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” But then, one fateful day, everything changed.
There we were in the grocery store, and she was 10 years old. A Lionel Richie tune played over the speakers, and without realizing it, I started singing along, perhaps even dancing a bit.
We’re going to… party, karamu, fiesta, for—“STOP THAT!”
Her reaction caught me off guard. I expected laughter, not a glare.
“What? Am I embarrassing you?”
“YES,” she whispered.
And just like that, the era of the fun parent came to a screeching halt. It wasn’t just me—my partner noted similar reactions around the same time. We had officially reached a significant parental milestone: the moment your child becomes ashamed of you.
Initially, we tried to spare our daughter’s dignity by keeping our goofiness under wraps in public. However, as Kiki transitioned deeper into her tween years, her self-consciousness escalated. By the time she hit her teenage years, even the most ordinary actions—smiling, breathing—provoked her embarrassment. Eventually, my partner and I realized it was futile to hold back, and we embraced our role as unabashed embarrassers. We recognized that it was not only our right but our duty to embarrass our teenage daughter, and we began to actively seek out chances to do just that.
Let’s be honest; she had her moments of shaming us when she was younger. I recall a meltdown at an arts festival when she was two, a scene so dramatic that the band on stage halted their performance mid-song. I also remember her scolding a smoker outside of Quiznos at age four because we had taught her that smoking is harmful. And who can forget her belting out “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity” in the library at five, revealing that one of her parents (ahem) had let her watch Grease a bit too soon?
Now it’s our turn, and goodness, is it delightful—and so effortless that it almost feels like cheating. A simple call of her nickname, “Kiki-loo,” in front of her friends, or showing up at her school in sweatpants does the trick.
Just a couple of nights ago, we were on our way home from dinner when “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” came on the radio. My partner and I couldn’t help but start dancing in our seats, completely lost in the groove.
“Stop!” Kiki commanded. Naturally, we ignored her.
I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
You wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
“STOP!” Kiki insisted, her face turning crimson.
“Why?” I asked. “There’s no one around to see us.” It didn’t seem to matter; she was mortified.
As the chorus came around again, my partner and I decided to mix it up with a call-and-response for added hilarity.
Her: Someone’s always tryin’
Me: To start my baby cryin’
Her: Talkin’, squealin’, lyin’
Both: Sayin’ you just want to be startin’ somethin’.
Just then, a car pulled up beside us at the stoplight. The occupants didn’t even notice our antics, but poor Kiki looked like she was about to burst into tears. I finally took pity and turned down the radio, halting our performance.
A minute later, we parked in the driveway. Kiki muttered nothing as she got out and stomped toward the house. Michael Jackson’s voice still echoed from the radio. I rolled down the window.
“Don’t leave!” I called out. “You’re going to miss the best part.”
I cranked the volume back up and began to sing and clap along.
Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!
Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!
Kiki shot us a withering glare, dashed into the house, and slammed the door behind her. And we just kept singing.
For more amusing parenting stories and insights, check out our other blog posts, including this one about the home insemination kit and how to restore your core strength after pregnancy. If you’re interested in the science behind insemination, see this excellent resource on IUI success.
In summary, parenting a teenager can be a wild ride, especially when it comes to embracing the role of the embarrassing parent. Though our kids may roll their eyes and cringe at our antics, these moments create lasting memories that we cherish.