Aug. 3, 2009
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Avoiding the teenage Talkasaurus
The Family Guy For example, “I love you,” generally means just that. But there are times when, “I love you,” is code for “Dear Lord, please stop talking!” Like playing hopscotch through a minefield, one wrong step can trigger an emotional explosion of tears, shouts and head-splitting stares. While certain occasions call for the harsh bite of reality and the ignoble “because I said so” justification, in most instances parents have to learn the subtle art of sugar-coating. This is the best weapon at a parent's disposal when cornered by that tricky beast known as the Pre-Teen Talkosaurus. Sightings can take place around bedtime, bath time, or whenever kids are asked to do something they'd rather not, but at the Buckner abode it's always at dinner. A distant, lost look will fall across The Diva's eyes right after her mother or I have entered the conversational fray with an innocent, “So how was school?” It's cliché, but efficient. How The Diva answers this question helps us gauge her mood for the rest of the evening. Met with little more than “Fine,” and a shoulder shrug, we understand that dinner table banter is likely to be kept to minimum. Silence is another common response. But fearing she's fallen mute, we prod a bit to see if anything traumatic has happened. If no larcenous confessions emerge, we're happy to leave well enough alone. But then there are times when, upon delivering the familiar introduction, My Lovely Wife and I hold our collective breath. The Diva's in a good mood – an electrified, giddy, whirling dervish of a good mood – and when she gets started, she may never stop. Please don't misunderstand. I love The Diva deeply, and I'm very thankful that we're communicating in ways that don't involve eye-rolling, foot-stomping and door-slamming. But when she gets to feeling chatty that child could suck the wind out of a tornado. And like the New Kids on the Block, I'm hangin' tough. Through a torrent of high-pitched, squeal-fueled stories involving kids I've never met, I do my best to pay attention, adding the occasional “Really … no way … she said that … how funny …” I've never heard the word “like” used so many times without a single simile attached. It's like The Diva was speaking a language like English but not exactly English. Finally after 45 minutes of having no clue what she's talking about, I consider faking a groin pull just to escape with my sanity. Otherwise, she'll keep talking until Rapture. And just like every man knows the two-slaps-on-the-back sign that says when a hug is done, My Lovely Wife and I have a signal to let the other know – without hurting The Diva's feelings – it's time for the conversation to end. So I make my move. Standing as if for the National Anthem, I command The Diva's attention with an abrupt, “Sweetie, I love you, but I've got to … (make love with a water moccasin or any of the other 34 excuses I've prepared in advance). This is code to My Lovely Wife for “P-L-E-A-S-E help me to make her stop talking!” Together we usher her into the bathroom -- still talking -- and shove her into the shower. Worried she might drown, My Lovely Wife maintains a vigil outside the door until she hears the radio click on. It isn't until coffee the next morning, grinning guiltily over our previous night's deviousness, that we see all the dirty dishes in the sink and realize the goal of The Diva's chat had nothing to do with bonding, but was to avoid doing her chores. Talk about devious. Brett Buckner is an award-winning former columnist for the Anniston Star. He lives in Columbus, Ga. with his wife, daughter and stepdaughter. His humor column appears regularly in The Post. Contract Brett at brett.buckner@yahoo.com. |