Because I Said So

I have never been a fan of the buddy approach to parenting. The modern urge to create a kind of equivalence between the parent and the parented has always struck me as ill-considered, in part because an absence of boundaries between pals may be no big deal, but can create mayhem in a family relationship.

My kids’ friends are their friends, not me. Yes, I would like them to spend time with me, to share some tastes in music and film, but in general, I want them to love and respect me because I am their parent, not because I am their pretend peer.

Because I have had my share of trials as a human and a parent, I try not to judge the way that other people interact with their children, but when I see a mother and child at the mall who dress and act alike, I can’t help but gag a bit. By creating that social currency with their daughter, the kind that is usually controlled by the child, not the parent, the adult in the relationship risks losing leverage.

I have a friend who I adore who has an amazing mouth on him and he frequently engaged in a lot of wise-cracking with his kids. He would tweak them or insult them in vivid ways and they would give as good as they got. It was always fun to listen to, but I wondered what would happen when they would grow up and begin to push back as adolescents tend to do. And as they matured, they indeed spoke to him as an equal, reading his beads and challenging his motives in a way that was far too fresh for my tastes. They got through, as families always do, but there was more noise and more tears than

I would have been comfortable with.

There have been times when I have had one-on-one with one of the girls and the intimacy is bound to grow, as is the potential for conflict.  The summer before last, Erin and I spent a great of time at our cabin where she waited tables at a local joint and I worked on a book. Writing a book tends to bring out the worst in a person, at least me, and I was moody and weird to be around.

Without the buffer of others around us, our respective roles as father and daughter eroded significantly. It was not a pretty picture. I found myself seeking approval and arguing in juvenile ways that created a false equivalency. For her part, Erin was a rising college sophomore, one of the more self-involved species of human on the planet and she was having her own issues of adjustment trying to fit in with the locals who were having none of her big city ways. (The fact that we lived on a mountain a ways out of town and shared a single car that didn’t always work very well added a bit of unneeded texture to the relationship.)

When you have mostly one person in your life, you tend to expect too much from them and treat them as just another adult in your life. It was not a pleasant interlude, although we reached a kind of accommodation by the end of the summer and tried to stay out of each other’s way. We can laugh about it now, but it was not a situation that brought out the best in either of us.

But a funny thing happened since then. Even as I renewed my commitment to being Erin’s father, not her friend, she grew up on me. This year, Erin, who I had always admired but thought of someone who was too self-involved to take care of someone’s fichus plant, became a resident assistant at college. Her choice, clearly a stretch and a conscious change from her rather carefree life, took my breath away. There was something so grown-up, so adult, about growing new muscles and taking on the responsibility for the health and safety of dozens of other college kids.

And as I listened to her talk her way through the challenges and pratfalls inherent in doing anything new, I realized that she had turned into a grown-up when I wasn’t looking. Sure, she still has – and cherishes – the blanket that her grandma made her and is capable of sounding like a very little girl when things don’t go well with the boy in her life.  But more often than not these days, the voice on the other end of the phone is one of a grown-up, someone who is clear-eyed and reasonable in all their assessments, including ones that they make in the mirror.

I adore who she has become. Her twin sister Meagan has undergone a similar metamorphosis now that she is junior as well, but in a way, she had a shorter distance to go. Erin, a free spirit and sensualist who was always concerned with what any situation had to offer her, is now someone who thinks a lot about what she can offer any situation.

And here’s the strangest part. A few days ago, I was a long ways from home in a hotel, feeling dark and existential for no particular reason. And the person I wanted to talk to was Erin, something of a kindred spirit when it comes to those moods. I resisted the urge to call her – those boundaries again. But I was sitting on the patio and the phone rang. It was Erin, calling for no particular reason. I took it as a bit of a sign and talked through the little bumpy patch I was in, for the moment, reversing the polarity on our relationship and allowing her to nurture me.

I felt clear and refreshed when I got off the phone, touched that ten minutes on the phone with the right person could leave me feeling so much better. And the father in me, the father of Erin Lee Carr, was deeply proud that my daughter had turned into the kind of person someone could lean on. Someone like me.

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