Last week we had a particularly bad
morning—Jessie and I. I think the pedestrians and coffee drinkers on Wellington
Street—who witnessed a car suddenly swerving to the curb and braking and a
young legging-clad woman jumping out, yelling in furious anger and then
slamming the door shut—might agree. So might those inside the trendy stores who
just may have seen the rock-clench of my jaw and the full-body energy stomp
executed by Jessie on her way to rehearsal. Where I had “kindly” driven her, as
a favour, in an effort to get her to rehearsal on time in a rainstorm.
I am learning that you must NEVER, EVER
do a favour to an adolescent-brained being. Or at least only deliver the favour
with the understanding that it will immediately and forever more be held
against you in some Freudian warp that has morphed you into an evil
car-driving, dinner-making, message-taking, cell-phone-bill-paying necromancer
whose only intention is to entrap the adolescent-brained being forever in some
hell that resembles, uh, let’s see, a house with people who love you and feed
you and drive you places and ask you every now and then to do your laundry.
Okay. I am not being totally honest
here. It’s true; I did drive Jessie when she usually takes the bus. But I think
I also took advantage of the captive audience bit and may have nagged her.
About getting to bed on time (so she would wake up on time and get to the bus on
time), or about writing things down so she doesn’t forget them, or about being
responsible, or about how if she doesn’t get her act together the only place she
might be able to move out to is a GROUP HOME. . . and well, that’s probably how it
went.
So when she told me that I wasn’t the
boss of her and that she could do whatever she wanted and I should just deal
with it, I may have pulled over to the curb a bit too quickly. Where I told her,
calmly, to get out of the car. (I did check to make sure that we were close to
the dance studio and that she could find her way there.) Where she heard that
very dangerous calm tone and knew to step out. Where she had impeccable timing
that allowed her to yell angrily at the top of her lungs “I LOVE YOU. SO
THERE!!” just as she slammed to door shut. Where the pedestrians and coffee
drinkers on Wellington Street (referred to at the beginning) got their mid-day
entertainment.
Three blocks up the road, my cell phone
binged with a text message. Jessie, as always, had the final word:
Notice how she was able to cap "NOT," just to make sure she was being clear.
