Lately, I can’t shake the feeling that my tween daughter views me as a relic of the past. When I suggest she brings a sweater to school, she gives me a condescending smile, rolls her eyes, and tosses it into her backpack—making it clear it’s just to humor me.
When I ask her to call a friend about carpooling, she laughs at my old-fashioned approach and quickly sends a text instead. My excitement over her wanting to borrow an old outfit of mine quickly fades when I realize she plans to wear it ironically, completely missing the nostalgia I felt about it.
I often remind her, “Never do anything you’d be embarrassed to see on the front page of the newspaper,” but she stares at me blankly before saying, “Oh, you mean don’t do anything that might show up on Instagram?” Our playful banter sometimes includes me playfully hitting her with a pillow and shouting “Makeup!” She giggles, but recently asked, “Why do you keep saying that?” When I explain it’s what vintage movie directors would shout, she gives me a soothing nod—as if I’m stuck in a time warp.
I mean, come on! I’m not sitting here in a rocking chair knitting blankets or donning mom jeans from the ’90s. Why does she think I’m some old-fashioned character? I might just ask her today while we’re out.
“Mom! Is that a fanny pack you’re wearing?” she exclaims.
“No, no! It’s a fabric pouch for my cash that clips to my belt loop,” I insist, showcasing it proudly. “It’s a Hip Clip!”
“Oh, Mom,” she chuckles, wrapping her arm around mine. “You’re so adorable!”
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In summary, as I navigate the quirky world of parenting my tween daughter, I often feel like a figure from the past. Her reactions to my attempts at relevance are both amusing and eye-opening, reminding me of the generational gap we share.