I Miss Kids

I miss raising kids. It was probably the hardest, but most satisfying job I've ever had. It was also the most fun. (My warped personality even liked the teenage years) I think that is why I had a teenager as the narrator in The Possessor.  In my new novel, The Urn, I have another teenager as narrator. I miss their black and white interpretation of the world. They know how the world works and they have all the answers. How they think their parents are clueless. My daughter was certain that I was clueless. No matter how hard I tried to prove otherwise. I remember one time I was watering a flowerbed under my daughter's bedroom window and saw several footprints. Since my daughter had an overnight the night before, the only conclusion that this clueless dad could come to was they'd sneaked out during the night. I thought about telling their mom, but that would mean a confrontation, and those were never much fun. So, I decided to wait.

Sure enough, two weeks later during a sleepover, I heard the girls sneaking out the window. Being a clueless dad, I didn't stop them-I followed them. They walked up the street, giggling and laughing, as if they'd pulled off the biggest scam in the world. I followed them to an old streetcar trestle four blocks from our house. I saw the lighters come out and the red glow from cigarettes in the distance. I watched for approximately twenty minutes when they started back home. I raced back and was in bed when I heard them sneak back in the bedroom.

I thought long and hard about what to do. They weren't getting into trouble although I didn't like my daughter smoking. I'd learned a long time ago that telling a teenager not to smoke is like throwing down a gauntlet. About a month later, my daughter had another sleepover. I was ready. Late in the evening, the girls were inside and I was outside with the hose watering the flowers. I made sure that the plants near my daughter's bedroom window were watered thoroughly.  Later that night, the girls sneaked out the window and were gone about forty-five minutes. I waited patiently by my bedroom door until I heard them return. Sure enough, a few minutes, my daughter said she was going to the bathroom. When she opened her door, I open my bedroom door. We met in the middle of the hallway.

"What are you doing, dad?" she asked, a dumbstruck look on her face.

"I'm thirsty," I said walking into the kitchen.

I waited for her to come out of the bathroom  and I met my daughter in the middle of the hallway.

"Good night, dad," she said.

"Good night. And Caitlin, after you wake up in the morning and the mud on the carpet is dry, I want you to get the Bissell out and clean it. Okay?"

I smiled. Caitlin eyes went from my loving face to the evidence on the floor.

"Make sure your mother and I are up. I don't want the Bissell to wake us up. After all, it's the weekend."

Clueless dad went back to bed. The Bissell came out at ten the next morning. Caitlin tells me she never snuck out again after that. And I, being a clueless dad, believed her.

I miss those days. They are embedded in my memory. They bring a smile to my face and warmth in my heart.

That's why I've started  to put teenagers in my books.