DAUGHTERS GROW UP – BUT I MISS THE PRE-TEENAGER

THERE COMES A CERTAIN moment when a mother realizes that dictates to her daughter are suddenly not being received with the same docility as they were when Offspring was under 11 and still in Junior School. Obedience no longer goes unchallenged. Restlessness, an inability to sit still, raging hormonal changes, an argumentative attitude teetering on rudeness… I can go on, but does anyone recognize a teenager?

Mothers notice this personality shift quite early in the day. Not so Fathers to whom a daughter remains a biddable and adorable little girl all his life. Conversations between parents go something like this.

“Tara is different anney.“

“What do you mean different? She looks the same to me. Prettier of course.”

“Not her looks, her outlook sort of.”

He snorts and the mother might as well save her breath. Generally speaking, nuances of behaviour are lost on the male sex as far as wives and daughters are concerned. It seems as if they remain enshrined (not the best word) in a bubble of feminine behaviour that never changes.

Maternal pronouncements, however, begin to change from “Do it this instant,” to “Do you think it is a good idea to do it?” This metamorphosis does not take place overnight of course. There is a moment of realization when a chance incident occurs and things are never the same between them again.

My own such moment vis-a-vis my mother came up when, armed with a brand-new degree, I ventured to advise my highly experienced educationist mama on a school matter. To my stunned surprise she regarded me with new respect. I had gained semi-professional status in her mind and total professional status in mine.

Sooner rather than later I faced this moment of truth with my own offspring. We were driving down Galle Road (during my driving era) when a cyclist cut (illegally) in front of me. I veered wildly. I almost lost control of the car. I certainly lost my cool. Offspring’s hand shot out and she deftly steered the car to the curb. “It’s OK Mummy,” she said soothingly. “Don’t panic.”

The look I turned on her bewildered the poor child no end. She was only 15. When had she become so street smart and savvy? And my Dearly Beloved did not get away with those driving lessons he had been giving her on the sly either. We were on non-speaking terms for a day.

Somehow there was a shift in Offspring’s communication with me. Tacitly her semi-adult status was accepted and I can’t say it hasn’t been a mutually satisfying one.

But then along came KitKat my rambunctious, guileful, exuberant granddaughter rapidly losing that childish panache that constantly brightened my day and I missed that graceless little person no end. What was our moment of truth?

Witness me dithering on the edge of a pavement trying to cross a traffic crowded road while every car in Colombo is bearing down on me with screaming tyres. It is a death-defying adventure I undertake only because my driver has just bleated, “So I can’t park on the other side of the road no Madam.”

I clutch Kitkat’s hand. She returns the pressure. Is she being reassuring by any chance? I yank her halfway across the road and then stand dithering on the road divider before attempting the other half. I decide to make a dash for it. I put out a tentative foot. Tahire’s muscular swimmer’s arm shoots out protectively.

“Take it easy Achchi”,” she says gently. “There’s plenty of time.” I look at her calm face aghast, feeling saddened beyond belief. “Oh no,” I exclaim. Has her moment of truth come already? KitKat is just 13.

So mothers and grandmothers take heed. That moment when you discover your little girl is no longer a little girl should not be traumatic for a door is opening to a wonderful relationship between you.

Embrace it — instantly!