It occurred to me Wednesday night, while my wife and our 11-year-old daughter Emma frantically tore through a large pile of clothes on our kitchen counter, that I had absolutely no idea what goes on in our house.
I may have mentioned before that I’m somewhat detached from the lives of my wife and Emma. A few weeks ago I mentioned that I’m so detached in the lives of my wife and Emma that I have been downgraded to pretty much an after thought. But Wednesday night I truly came face to face with my total lack of family awareness.
“What’s with all the clothes?” I asked my wife and Emma while they were engaged in some sort of spirited discussion. By the way, I mentioned that Emma is 11. What I should have mentioned is that Emma is almost 12 and, as most parents of girls will tell you, when a girl is “almost 12” it means the girl has come to the realization that everything her mother says is wrong.
That same girl, long ago, came to the realization that everything her dad says is wrong, so the relationship between an almost 12-year-old girl and her father is not as, shall we say, mercurial as the relationship between an almost 12-year-old girl and her mother. The relationship between Tiger Woods and his wife is not as mercurial as the relationship between an almost 12-year-old girl and her mother.
I should point out, that as an American humor columnist, I am obligated by the American Humor Columnist’s Code of Ethics to make at least one Tiger Woods reference a week.
When I asked my wife and Emma what the deal was with all the clothes on the kitchen counter, I managed to bring their spirited discussion to a temporary halt.
“They’re Emma’s costumes for her dance recital this weekend. Tonight is her dress rehearsal,” my wife said.
“Emma takes dance?” I said.
“&%$#” my wife said.
“Whatever,” Emma said.
Here’s another little tip for those of you who aren’t yet the parent of an almost 12-year-old girl: “Whatever” is an interchangeable word that basically, when directed at a parent, means “You are a moron.”
In retrospect, I probably should have known that Emma had a dance recital last week. I mean, that would explain why I’ve been driving Emma to a dance studio on the square in Carthage for the past six or seven years. But lately I’ve been sort of distracted. See, the St. Louis Cardinals are trying to sign Matt Holliday to a free-agent contract and there has been a lot to read up on. So somehow I missed the fact that Emma had a dance recital.
Once Emma and my wife got over the fact that I was unaware of the impending dance recital, they resumed their spirited discussion. My wife and Emma’s spirited discussion centered around a missing costume. Emma insisted that my wife left the missing costume at the dance studio on the square in Carthage. My wife insisted that Emma left the missing costume at the dance studio on the square in Carthage.
It was your basic insist-off.
I decided to moderate the spirited discussion.
“It doesn’t matter who left the costume at the dance studio,” I said. “The important thing is that you both love each other very much and that you will never let minor disagreements ever change that,” I said.
My wife and Emma looked at me for a second then they looked at each other and then they looked back at me.
“Whatever,” they said.
Address correspondence to Mike Pound, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802, or via e-mail at mpound@joplinglobe.com.
