The following conversation is a shortened representation of what was a much more convoluted discussion. I’ve just skimmed the essence of what was said to present here:

“He’s squashing my life!” bemoaned Kiki. We’d just spend an evening with a writer’s group in our home, during which Howard had pulled Kiki aside and corrected her on a particular social interaction. After the group left, Kiki and I washed up in the family room and her woes began to spill forth.

“Yes. Dads do that sometimes.” I answered. “It is impossible for your behavior not to be affected by the presence of your Dad. It is also impossible for my behavior not to be affected by the presence of one of my children. This is still true for me and my parents.”

Kiki nodded. I could see she got what I was trying to say, but she was not yet calm.

“But Mom, I don’t want to be that teenager. I don’t want to be crying about how my parents ruin my life. But that is how I feel. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t want to be that person.”

“Feelings are not really in our control. You are having a specific reaction to a specific situation. The fact that you are not generalizing that reaction, making your dad into the bad guy, demonstrates great emotional maturity. The truth is that you and your dad are increasingly sharing adult friends, and what he did embarrassed you in front of your friends.”

“Yes. And I felt squashed.”

“So you’ve identified a specific interpersonal situation that troubles you. You can either respond by spending less time with your dad to avoid the situation, or you can confront him about it in order to stay close.”

Kiki nodded and our conversation wandered for a time into topics that were tangential. This continued until Kiki saw that Howard was upstairs cooking in the kitchen and said “I’m ready to talk to him. You have to come with me.”

And so I did. The conversation began a little on the wrong foot. Kiki expressed her squashedness and Howard responded with a bit of a lecture about how people who hadn’t done the reading should not speak up in writer’s group. Kiki folded inward and I intervened just a little.

“There is a larger issue here than just writer’s group. Kiki feels the same squashed feeling sometimes when you are playing RPG games together.”

Kiki nodded. “Getting into the role is easier when you’re not there. I can just be the person.”

Howard turned and leaned against the counter. He was quiet for a minute, then said. “Sorry. I’ve just had a whole chain of thought and there is some stuff you need to know Kiki. Any time one of my kids gets up to speak in public, I feel a sick feeling in my gut. I know how hard and humiliating public embarrassment can be and I don’t want my kids to ever experience that. This is why I always step in and correct. I’m trying to prevent you from having pain, and therefore also prevent my pain at your pain. The result still causes you pain, but prevents mine. I need to learn how to step back and let you make your own mistakes.”

Kiki nodded, absorbing this new information about how her father thinks. Then the conversation moved on, but not before there were hugs.

Once again I am impressed by Kiki and Howard. I was not able to have that sort of peer-to-almost-peer conversation with my father until I was much older than she is.

Epilogue: They had a game session two days after this conversation. It went very well with no squashing.

“What is that chirping noise?” Howard called from his office.

“That’s Sweetie. We’re babysitting him for the next week.”

“What?”

“It’s a parakeet honey. We have a bird in our house. He’s trying to get someone to come talk to him.”

“Oh. I thought someone was torturing a computer.”

****

Yesterday Bob and Joe the grasshoppers were freed from their glass holding tank. They were quite the adventurous creatures, having been born in Idaho and smuggled home to Utah in a small girl’s suitcase. Gleek tended them lovingly for three weeks, adding daily doses of grass and water. But in the end she decided that they would be happier where they could jump and fly. So Gleek, Link, and Patch trooped outside for the momentous occasion. Bob and Joe consented to sit on hands and be examined for awhile before we found them a nice hidden spot where the birds would not see them.

****

This next week will also be one of Rat care. The rats don’t come to our house, but Gleek visits them daily and plays with them. She has even set up a special box so that the rats can have exploratory adventures.

****

Our first try with Sea Monkeys was extremely disappointing, leading to a jar that was completely empty. The second attempt reaped exactly one Sea Monkey. Gleek named it “It” and watched lovingly while It grew. So the third attempt included two packets in two different containers. Both succeed in little swarms. Yesterday Gleek decided that all the Sea Monkeys were lonely and wanted to be together, so we combined the colonies. Now we have a bowl full of a mult-generational eco-system. They really are kind of fun to watch as they swarm around the bowl.

I was in my room when I heard the piano music. It was a fairly simple piece, but it was played well and it was far more complex than any of my children could produce. I went to see who was playing. Gleek sat on the couch and Bestfriend was at the piano. The scene made me a little sad. The two girls started piano lessons at the same time, but life around here got crazy, I forgot to remind Gleek about lessons, and they became a chore rather than a joy. We let her quit. Now she can hear what she gave up. It makes her a little sad too.

I suppose the lesson is a good one. It is good for people to see the results of diligence if it then inspires them to work hard themselves. Gleek is not afraid of hard work or pain in pursuit of something she wants. But she is prone to giving up without trying if she believes she will fail.

This Fall music will be in our house again. Link has band. I’m thinking it is time for Gleek to try music again as well. We recently acquired a guitar, and I’ve thought of helping her work with that. I’ve also considered finding a new piano teacher. I’ve also thought of re-enrolling her in gymnastics. Just last week she was practicing walking on her hands. Gleek has so much potential in so many things that I could completely fill her days with lessons. But that would not be good for her either. So I keep turning over the ideas in my head, waiting for something to become clear.

I’m not sure it can become clear until after I’ve found a school routine. So much has yet to be determined. I need to figure out the rhythms of the days once I’ve got one kid in high school, on in junior high, and two in elementary. There are pieces I need to set firmly into place before I start adding ancillary activities. And I can not get started on any of it right now. So in idle moments my brain examines the shapes of the possibilities and plays with putting them together. It is actually kind of pleasant. All of it is shiny and new, none of it has become work yet.