Parenting by MSN Messenger

I spent the day with my daughter and her family on Saturday. Well, I should say part of the day. The part of the day we spent at my daughter's mom's house, my daughter spend in her room. Not exactly the picture of family togetherness.

It's getting harder and harder to have much quality time, even though I'm now living closer and getting to spend more frequent time with her.

I got copies of her new school pictures, which is great. Unfortunately, picture day was about a week before she got her braces off. And she's had her hair highlighted, so she already looks different than her freshman year photo.

It was a nice day. The family took me out to lunch and made me dinner for my birthday, which was nice. And I got to see my new niece for a little while and her big sister, so that was nice too, even though I missed my older niece's soccer game. So I'm going to try to go up and see her last game of the season next week.

The rest of the day we spent just doing ordinary family stuff. I help my daughter's mom and her partner build the computer desk we bought back in the spring and which has been sitting in its box for months.

When I got back home a little while ago I logged on to find my daughter, where she was when I left, online and sitting at the computer. MSN Messenger allows you to add a personal quote to your screen name. My daughter changes hers quite often. She had a new one tonight. It reads:

"Put on a cool '70s groove, a funky groove to fuck to."

My daughter is 14.

I was not amused. So I asked her about it.

Apparently she was amused, because she answered me back with an "lol".

She informed me the quote was from a Tenacious D song. I, being tragically unhip, do not have any Tenacious D in my musical library.

I told her I didn't think it was funny and I think it may give guys some bad ideas.

There was no response.

I told her I just wanted to let her know I made it home (not that she was losing any sleep about it). "And please consider changing the quote."

No response.

So I said I loved her and I would talk to later.

Still no response.

So I said goodbye and waited.

Still no response.

So I logged off.

I keep in contact with some friends and family by IM programs. But it feels pretty damn inadequate to try to be a parent over MSN Messenger.

Oh, and in case your curious, the Tenacious D song is apparently called "Double Team", and yea it's pretty much about what the title would lead you to think.

Look, I'm far from a prude. But I am scared shitless about my daughter trying to be "cool" and ending up doing something she's not ready for with a boy, or boys. Lord knows, I will probably never be ready for her to have an active sex life, but 14 is much too young. And not that listening to songs about sex means she's doing any such thing. Lord knows at 14 I was probably saying things and listening to things that would have shocked my parents. But I just don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be a parent of a teenage daugher. I don't know if it's appropriate to try to act like a parent when I have been not much more than a sperm donor and a periodic visitor for her entire short life.

But I didn't move back here just to share sunny days at the park with her. I came back to be here for her, in good times and bad. Does that mean I'm merely a silent observer and walking ATM machine?

I don't know.

So, all you parents out there, what should I have done? And what should I do?

Parenthood
MSN Messenger
Family

Living in a safer world and a teenager high on Red Bull

In the post 9/11 world, airline passengers practically have to disrobe to get on a commercial airplane anymore. The latest things the federal watchers have banned from possessing in the cabin of an airliner is cigarette lighters. And all sharp objects, like a fingernail file, are expressly forbidden.

So consequently I was surprise and amused several hours ago when flying on an Alaska Airlines MD-80 from Palm Springs to Portland when I saw this little gem in the lavatory of the aircraft. They had a little slot in there marked specifically for the purpose of disposing razor blades.

Maybe it for those panicked folks who realized they had inadvertently gone past the TSA checkpoint with a "weapon" and go into the in-flight john to quell their panic attack. Maybe the slot is an attempt at last-minute amnesty for people who mistakenly violate federal safety procedures.

Or perhaps it is intended for perspective hijackers who get cold feet prior to attempting to take over the plane.

Nervous hijacker: If only there was a way I could back out of this fiendish plan to hijack this plane. But I've gone to all this trouble to smuggle an old-fashion double sided razor blade on board. Which was no small trick. I mean I have to find a pickle just the right size and firmness so when I inserted the blade in there the sharp edges didn't stick out. And then there was the added stress and discomfort of inserting the pickle shank up my rectum. It's not easy to walk with a pickle up the pooper! And then, there was the whole removal process in the can. But, I don't want to hurt these nice people. If only I could get rid of my weapon somehow... Oh, look, a sharps disposal slot for blades. Now, isn't that handy.

So, I went back to my seat in the nearly empty plane and had a little quiet chuckle about the razor disposal slot. But by the time the plane touched down at PDX I was wishing I had a razor blade. I'd rather slit my wrists than go through another landing like that.

Portland, which has shipped all of its rain and storm weather south to Palm Springs most of the winter, was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around like a vibrator during multiple orgasms. We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach.

The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.

After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your sign" sort of questions.

Me: So, is it windy here?

Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.

Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.

Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.

It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.

But, obviously, my fellow passengers and I made it, safe and sound, and fortunately no one left their lunch on the cabin upholstery. Although, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of the two beers I had at the airport bar in Palm Springs. The 11 o'clock news was reporting wind gusts on the nearby Oregon Coast ranging from 50-plus to nearly 80 mph. I think they were all aimed at our plane. But we got here, and life goes on.

After getting to Portland and picking up a rental car, I met up with my daughter's mom, and we went together to pick up our daughter from a party she was attending with some of her friends from school. Apparently that party was designed to end at 10 p.m., because as we got there, a parade of cars started pulling up at the same house. They were sure a punctual bunch of parents, I'll give them that.

Apparently the drink of choice at this party was the energy drink Red Bull. My daughter admitted to having two of them. And a Coke. Apparently caffeine getter her motor revving and she gets quite chatty. I've been told I can be the same way when I've had a few beers. I don't, however, thing those two things are related, nor do I think there is an inherited connection. And I choose not to believe the Red Bull was a chaser for something else. Anyway, the last visit when I was here, I felt light an inquisitor trying to get her to say anything in a complete sentence. Tonight she was rambling on about her boyfriend, and her friends hooking up with each other, and freak dancing at Catholic school dances, and, on and on. And yes, I had to have her define freak dancing, and GOD I hope I never witness her doing such a thing.

I'm not sure which is worse, having a teenage daughter who doesn't talk, or one that tells you about all the drama of 8th grade in a metropolitan city. I guess it is cool that she felt comfortable enough to say those things to me and fill me in on her life, but it was verging on too much information for my aging ticker.

I'm leaning toward the silence is golden thing at the moment.

Flying
Vacation
Teenagers
Parenthood