Taylor

I cried this morning. I did it last night, too. I’ll probably break down again after I write this. I alternate between shame, pride, and satisfaction at my emotional state. I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t allow my brain to process the emotions until now.

In a few moments, after I click “publish”, I’ll walk upstairs, stumble through the darkness, step over a kitten or two, and open my oldest daughter’s bedroom door. As I do each morning, Monday through Friday, when I’m in town, I’ll press my thumb and index fingers over her little toes poking out from her blanket. I’ll say “good morning beautiful” and she’ll grumble back  “guhh mornun”. The difference, this time, will be that she’s sixteen years old.

I’ve written several times about our relationship. I met Taylor aka Tay when she’d just turned twelve. In the almost 4 years I’ve had the privilege to be her father, I’ve loved her like I loved her eight year old sister, whom I made with my DNA, and her seven year old sister, whom I did not.

To know her is to experience her. She’s a blonde ball of sunshine in my life that I just can’t describe and I’m supposed to be a writer.

I can’t write anymore, because, yeah, I’m crying.

Today is about my daughter. So, get off me about the song. Her favorite human being in the world is Taylor Swift. I didn’t even listen to it before I put it in this post. Just know, my sixteen year old daughter will eventually read this and she’ll appreciate that her, well, she calls me Lance most of the time, posted some T-Swift.

Happy Birthday beautiful. There’s a bag of flaming hot cheetos downstairs.

I love you.

Kids in America

We all lie to ourselves and say that we have good relationships with people. The truth is we wouldn’t iphone, ipad, ipod, twitter, facebook, and blog is we were really talking and connecting.

Other than my wife and my three daughters, I don’t have a single friend. I have dozens of aquaintances and a lot of internet communications. Some of them would make amazing real life friends if there wasn’t real life keeping us apart. I don’t think I’m different than most, especially to those of you reading this post. As a result, I work very hard at being my wife’s best friend and my 3 daughters, father.

Talking to a teenager is like having a conversation with someone from France. They don’t like you. They intentionally act like they don’t understand what you’re saying. Most of all, they’re rude and dismissive. I’m not stupid enough to think that my 15 year old likes me. I do think that staying connected with her day to day life will give her the comfort to come to me when she needs to talk. So far, knock on particle board, she’s stayed out of trouble and in touch with me on important issues. She’s changed what she wants to be when she grows up 3 times since the start of 2011. I still have hard cash money on her being a writer, but for now she’s set on bio-chemical engineering. One day, she’ll make my anxiety pills. At least my influence is palpable.

I’m smart enough to know her favorite snack food is flaming hot cheetos. I never come back from the grocery store without them. This leads to her popping into my room or meeting me in the kitchen and giving me a hug and saying something about her day. I believe I deserve a Nobel Prize for parenting. Also, you know it all, super moms and dads who only feed your child organic health food can go pound sand. Flaming friggin hot cheetos is creating a future President of the United States under my roof!

My daughter is a high school cheerleader. She’s involved in a lot of school activities. I’m around many teenagers. I don’t like any of them but her. I bet those kids eat apples and never say more than shut up to their dads.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not a lazy parent. There’s a message in that, and a halfway decent blog post.

If you have kids, don’t take them for granted. In between wanting to choke them out, listen to what they have to say and take their grocery list requests.

Today’s song is old, like me. I heard it on an 80s station on the way into work. I forgot how much I liked Kim Wilde. Here’s Kids in America….ohh I miss New Wave.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

It’s Saturday morning and my head is about to explode. There’s 3 thousand people packed into the largest high school gymnasium in the State of Georgia. Most of them are chanting, screaming, clapping, stomping, dancing, and exuding pep that just isn’t normal. Katy Perry’s Firework comes over the PA system and thousands of teenage girl cheerleaders start singing, in unison, mostly out of pitch, that infernal song. God, I know I haven’t been perfect. Is this is my judgement for my sins, you have me humbled. On second thought, I’m in Hell, one of Dante’s rings, surrounded by hairbows and makeup. This is the end of my days.

The alarm went off at 5:30am on a Saturday. I’m a morning person and I found this flat wrong. It’s a weekend day, two of my three kids were elsewhere, and the teenager normally sleeps to noon. Oh yeah, it’s my oldest child’s big day. Tay’s first high school cheerleading competition was in 4 and a half hours. To boost team morale and suck on carbs, the coach arranged a squad breakfast for 6:30am. Tay needed an hour to get ready. I kept my bitching to a minimum and went into robot mode. This is my daughter at 6:24am-

“You have to wear spirit wear.”

I look at my wife like she told me I had to wear a Lady Gaga meat dress.

“I have a Lanier Longhorns (my kid’s high school and team nickname) t-shirt but it’s 2 years old and I think the kids shrank it. How about I just smile a lot and show my jazz hands.”

I get the death glare. You know the one. It’s the look that tells you you’re sleeping on the couch for a week and you’re buying her something expensive if you don’t aquiesce immediately. I pull on the small t-shirt. I normally wear a medium. My wife was right.

The scene is hard to explain. Saying “you had to be there” makes for a crappy blog. There’s bad music, an awful sound system that’s never heard of Radiohead, and parents that are trying way too hard to relive their days in tight sweaters. Everyone is subversively happy. It’s Up With People with judges who give points for facial expressions. The hipster “i don’t give a crap” don’t score highly. Neither does the “it’s Saturday morning and football comes on in an two hours” eye roll.

My daughter looked beautiful. She wore the least amount of makeup of her peers and teammates. She smiled through a sprained ankle. Mostly Tay worked harder than I’ve ever seen her work. Her team is young. The school is in their second year. She represents a co-ed JV squad. Tay’s group went first. That’s right, first. Twenty eight squads and my darling’s Lanier Longhorns pulled the curtain. Their nerves were palpable. Her mom and I were sick with anticipations. She killed it. Dead. Tay hit every jump, tuck, backtuck, flip, stunt, front handspring, back handspring, and facial expression. Her team was terrific. They pulled first place for their division. My kid was the best one and the prettiest one. There isn’t a trophy for that but everyone acknowledged. I could tell.

I learned a lot on this day. If my daughter wasn’t involved in a cheerleading competition, I wouldn’t be anywhere near one. Yet, I picked up the lingo. I mean if my daughter was a baseball player and she hit a double off the wall to score two runs, I’d be able to spit that back. I felt her enthusiam. Mostly I witnessed my girl accomplish something remarkable. She worked herself into being a good cheerleader, through injury, stress, and pressure. There’s another competition next week. I’ll leave the cynicism at home next time. It Smelled Like Teen Spirit inside that hole of noise today. I kind of liked it. I’m proud of my daughter.

This is my try at braggin;. Part of 30 Days of Shamelessness http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/09/30-days-in-the-hole/ number 18 – BRAG. 

Today’s song was easy to post. There are cheerleaders, granted not the kind I want my daughter to be, and it rocks. This is probably more like the kind of cheerleading competition that suits my tastes. I feel stupid and contagious. Here’s Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit.