According to legend, when a victorious Roman general would return in his chariot and pass the cheering crowds lining the cobbled streets of Rome, a servant was assigned to ride along and repeat the following phrase into the conqueror’s ear, Sic transit gloria mundi. It’s a Latin phrase meaning, “All glory is fleeting.” The idea behind this was to keep the general from becoming too enamored with his accomplishments because, like most things in life, they were only temporary.
I’m of a mind that a similar concept should be instituted for parents of babies and young children, only instead of a servant, Mattel or Fisher-Price or one of those other companies fond of lead paint-laced toys, could implant a device in strollers and car seats that periodically blurts out, Fruere nunc pueri una die *tween, or, “Enjoy your child now, for one day they will be a tween.” Lindsay Lohan could be the voice. (*No Latin translation exists for the word tween.)
From a business standpoint, the likelihood of such a contraption flying off the shelves is slim to nil. Who wants a constant reminder that one day soon their sweet bundle of joy will suddenly develop an acute skill at turning everything into a drama and doggedly demand they be provided a cell phone loaded with an unlimited everything plan? Still, as unpopular as such a product may be, it does nothing in taking away from the truth of the core message: Children eventually grow up to be—cue scary music—tweens.
Exactly when this tween transformation starts in a child is a matter for debate between those who point to a particular age in marking its beginnings and those basing it on the manifestation of certain behavioral traits. Both positions have merit, but forced to pick, I’d have to go with Team Behavioral Manifestations partly out of personal experience, but mostly because they have better T-shirts.
When I say my choice is based on personal experience, I’m specifically referring to my oldest stepdaughter Allie, who at the tender age of six came home from school one day, locked herself in her bedroom and then cried in her pillow for the next several hours because, as her mother and I would learn later, she was upset that her boyfriend broke up with her at recess. “He said he didn’t want me anymore,” she blubbered, shooting snot across her face.
Seriously?!
Allie’s class couldn’t count numbers higher than three-digits, and yet by her daytime-drama performance, you’d think this was Kindergarten 90210. Did I expect this sort of thing from a teenager? Sure. From a kid who still considered Dora the Explorer as one of her three favorite shows? Oh, hell no. Thus, after a three-day stretch in which Allie did little else but stare longingly at the artistic rendition of her ex-flame which she had crafted using elbow macaroni during art class, it was high time to extinguish the embers of this pint-sized passion.
“Okay, that’s it. You’re not allowed to have boyfriends until you’re sixteen,” I said, snatching up the pasta portrait of her “soul mate.” Several piece of macaroni slid onto the floor making the picture appear as if she were in love with Steve Buscemi. “No more boys. None. Or I’m giving all your Barbie dolls to a poor little girl who wants to grow up and be a doctor or President or some other career where you don’t need a man.” Of course my stance automatically cast me as the strict, protective father of every female love interest in every John Hughes film of the 1980’s, but the situation warranted some perspective.
Allie was quiet for a moment. Then she looked up. “Can I have a cell phone?”
“A whaa—?! No! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. A six year old with a cell phone.” The nerve of this child.
That was two years ago, and despite clear and repeated refusals, Allie continues to seize upon any opportunity lending itself to the mention of her desire for a phone. Who in the world she’d ever call is beyond me, but I’m getting this sense from the pre-tween demographic that owning certain trendy gadgets and having access to popular social networking sites somehow makes you older. Allie is eight, but give her a smart phone, Facebook page, and a MySpace account, and in tween years she’d be twenty-two, which, she has informed me is one year older than pop star Ke$ha. I don’t think so.
Still, for all of her tween-like antics, it’s hard to take Allie seriously in that respect, because, regardless of whatever convoluted messages she is sucking in from iCarly and the likes, Allie’s not really a tween—not yet anyway.
Holding a tween wannabe at bay, I can do. Preventing a kid from becoming a tween I cannot, a realization I had to contend with shortly before my oldest son Noah’s twelfth birthday. I recognize that, technically speaking, twelve falls in the latter end of the tween age spectrum, and so maybe this all should’ve occurred to me earlier, but honestly, the whole thing just sort of snuck up on me. One day it’s all SpongeBob and Star Wars, the next it’s, “So, Dad, what can you tell me about girls?”
Girls?! What the—
Two years the boy doesn’t even hint at being a tween—no drama, no phones, no girls. Nothing. And then, he pops this on me. Granted the timing of his question may have had to do with the fact he was watching me sift through racks of women’s—cough—sleepwear, a situation I normally wouldn’t have subjected the boy to, but since it was Christmas Eve and the only opportunity for me to shop for my wife, Noah was being forced to endure the sight of such curiosities.
“Dad? Did you hear me?”
I heard him. “Hmmm, What I know about girls? Well, for starters…” I went on to answer his question thoroughly, taking additional satisfaction from my ability to do so in under two and a half minutes.
“Really, Dad? That’s it?”
Okay, so I held back on a few details. Noah and I have already had “the talk,” but for the moment, his grasp of human reproductive behavior is purely mechanical much in the same context we adults interpret the assembly instructions for IKEA furniture. However, it’s the emotional aspect that’s starting to kick in—those unexplainable butterflies that flutter inside at the sight of a pretty girl. I remember that feeling. In fact, I remember the exact instant those butterflies were released.
Her name was Jody, and she had longest legs I’d ever seen. I was twelve. She was sixteen. We were at a large Fourth of July picnic, and I was playing army with a bunch of other boys. I had just hunkered down into a solid ambush position beside the porch when Jody walked out and smiled in my direction. Suddenly, I was overcome with a the same rush of intense embarrassment I imagined Adam and Eve felt upon recognizing their nakedness; however, instead having the luxury of fig leaves to hide behind, I was left with only a wooden gun cut in the shape of an M16. Something about her black volleyball shorts and smooth tan skin, though, made me to lay down my toy weapon. From that moment on, I wanted to make love, or at least learn more about it, not war.
“BANG!” I heard some kid yell from me …or maybe it was Cupid?
“You’re dead, stupid!”
* * *
And now it’s my son who’s starting to feel those butterflies.
“Here, son. Hold this for a second,” I said handing him several hangers on which were draped all manner of lacey, frillies that I planned on narrowing down to a final selection.
“Dad?”
“Huh?”
“Can you tell me some more stuff about girls?”
“Like what?” I replied, half paying attention.
“Do girls really like underwear that’s made with just a string?”
I glanced over to see Noah inspecting one of the skimpier items I had picked out. “Sometimes they do, but we can talk about that later.”
Noah frowned. “Cummon, Dad. Tell me. You know I’m gonna be thirteen next year.”
Thirteen? Already? It seems like just yesterday he was only a tween. Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Incidentally, the closest Latin translation for teenager is the word monstrum or “monster.”
About Ron Mattocks
OH boy… just wait… you think this is bad- wait till you hit from 16 on…. it’s tons of fun!
As I was doing the math for this post I came to the other conclusion that there will be a window when I will have 5 teenagers all at one time… this terrifies me.
Oh good lord. You sure are in for a wild ride :)
Twitter Name: mommygeekology
I think I’m gonna need a helmet too.
I wish you Godspeed, dear sir. I am surviving my boys’ teen years by the skin of my teeth. Skin. of. my. teeth.
Twitter Name: debontherocks
I’m stocking up on mouth guards as we speak.
Hold on to your g-string Dad, those are some rough seas ahead! Have 3 teenage girls and a tween (11) boy knocking on the door. You too will survive!
Twitter Name: returntoworkmom
I hope that g-strings made of the same stuff as a tarp strap because during one window of my life I’ll have 5 teenagers at once.
Oh, man. I’m so glad my little girls will go straight from being adorable little kids to responsible rocket scientists and brain surgeons!
Great post, buddy!
No doubt that’s where they’ll end up, but I’m betting there’s going to be a few “stops” along the way. Just a hunch. Thanks.
Well, at least you’re teaching him how to pick out awesome lingerie. Remind me to thank him.
Twitter Name: schadenfreudett
No comment
My husband and I don’t have kids yet, but we sometimes randomly yell things like “I hate you! You don’t understand the way I feel! You’re ruining my life!” just to be prepared.
That sounds like a solid course of action. I think y’all will have nothing to worry about when the time comes. In fact, I’m sure of it. =-)
Yeah, tell me about it.
I’ll tell you what, do not ever give them anything they can use to access Facebook with from their beds, or you’ll wake up to snot nosed, poofy-eyed, SINGLE children. Because, you know, Facebook relationships are so easily hidden…and broken.
PS: I have a teenager in exactly three months from right this second. Kill me now?
You do know I’m taking notes and following your lead here. The term “single” children strikes me as both odd & funny. So help me, if I catch my “you know who” putting up a profile on “Tween-Harmony.com” I’m going to go all iCarly on her.
haha fun stuff…i grew up being pretty sheltered, so i knew that when i had kids it would be different. i have always been open with my children so that they would always feel that they can come to me. they usually do, but the older they get, the less they want to talk to their parents about things. i’m glad that they still do once in awhile though. as far as the talk, i’ve had a ‘talk’ with my kids…the girls starting when they turned 8 (since puberty for girls can start that young) and every year since adding whatever needed to be added and answering any questions. they can’t talk to my ex…he just tells them, it’s okay to have a boyfriend, just don’t do anything. yeah, good one, dad! lol
Twitter Name: SimplyCiara
Having the “talk” with the boy– I should say boys actually since my 8 yr old just got caught hiding the ladies underwear ads from the newspaper under his bed–was easy. But one Saturday morning my 8 y/o stepdaughter turns to me at a commercial break and asks, “So how old were you when you had your first period?”
“Hoooooooneeeeeey!!!”
The dark haired beauty is working hard on mastering the art of drama. She has moments where she bursts into tears and slams her bedroom door all the while shouting something about me being mean.
I of course tell her that I am working hard on becoming the meanest father ever. This goes over quite well.
She still doesn’t believe me when I tell her that I want the boys to refer to me as the Angel of Death, or at least think of me as being the father who really does have claws like Wolverine.
I won’t say that I am terrified of her pre-teen and teenage years, but I remember my sisters and that my dad used to have hair. Good luck my friend.
Twitter Name: thejackb
Beee meeeeeeanest faaaather eeeever. Got it. Just taking some notes for myself here.
Images of my 3 sisters at this time in life are not forgotten. One good thing though, as the oldest, I got to screen their boyfriends. That was fun.
btw all our kids got cell phones at the age of 10 o_O lol but personal choice..and responsible kids…most of time anyways lol
Twitter Name: SimplyCiara
Personal choice. Totally. Circumstances being what they are at the moment, our kids don’t need a phone, but we’ve already promised the girls they will get one if we move to Chicago so they can call their dad. By 12 they’ll all get one anyway, just so we can teach them some responsibility and to have something to take away from them when they goof up. =-)
I’m very afraid. (says the mom with 9 and 11 year old kids)
Twitter Name: juliaroberts1
It’s kinda like the impending doom of a meteor scheduled to hit earth in 2012. I hear ya.
Thank you for the reminder for relishing the, albeit temporary, moment of parenting successes. With boys at 3 and 5, clearly it is only downhill from here!
It’s a wild ride for sure. I’m actually less worried about my stepdaughters. But all 3 of my boys seem to feed off of each other’s antics. A month ago my 8 y/o son got caught hiding the ladies’s underwear ads from the Sunday paper under his bed. I’m keeping a close eye on that one.
I handled the sex talk very gracefully with my 6-year-old.
Until he asked if he could watch.
WHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAA-YA-YA-YA???
Great essay!!
Twitter Name: annsrants
Watch?! Ahhhhh! Of course then there’s the moments when they accidentally catch you in act. There have been a couple close calls around here, but we’ve been lucky.
And Thanks!
So knowing what you’re going through. So feeling the same angst. Yikes. It sneaks up on us way too fast and then BAM! You’re in it. Wishing you much luck as you navigate the tween path. We’re right there with you, cheering you on (as we clench our teeth and fight to hold on ourselves!)
There should be a support group or a pill or something for parents in our position. Hang in there. =-)
I absolutely adored this. I have a daughter how has so far asked me how babies were made. I told her the truth, a petri dish as she was an in vitro baby so technically I was telling her the truth.
Thanks, Jessica. In vitro? That’s a very special thing & I’m always happy to hear about those babies.
Somehow, though, I think you’re getting off easy in explaining things to your daughter. …Lucky.