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| Watercolour by L. Wilks |
When our
daughter was sixteen, life as we knew it changed forever in our household. What
happened? What calamity befell us? Was there a death? Did someone lose their
job? Was the dog pregnant?
Nothing that
minor!
Once upon a
time our teenage daughter had been a free spirit, a golden haired princess who
ran to meet us when we came home, who asked if we wanted a cuppa, who usually
needed to be driven somewhere. Suddenly she had this large growth on her side.
It was called ‘a boyfriend’.
It was quiet
romantic really. He saw her across a crowded basketball stadium and sent a
go-between to ask her to meet him in the foyer at half time. Introductions were
made. Phone numbers exchanged. Calls were made. He became a fixture.
He was a nice
enough guy. Tall. Handsome. Courteous. (Or was I just being suspicious?)
It seems our
Little Princess had grown up. She was spending large amounts of time preening in front of the
mirror, talking on the phone and watching TV romances.
She had
developed an interest in things that she wouldn’t give two minutes to some
month earlier. Films that HE liked. Food that HE liked. Books that HE liked. (Well,
there had to be some side benefits!)
As her parents,
we adjusted. We learned to share. We’d always thought our daughter was
beautiful, but it’s different when someone else thinks it. Apart from sharing
our daughter with a boy we hardly knew, we had to share our home with the
enormous fluffy toy he gave her on Valentine’s Day. It usually sat on her bed,
but could be found abandoned anywhere about the house. At least it didn’t
require feeding like her other pets that looked at me pathetically wondering
where all her hugs and kisses had gone.
What were we
supposed do?
What did my
parents do? My Mum had interrogated all boys on their family history, when they
crossed our front doorstep. The bare light globe often blinded them because
they groped around a lot afterwards.
My Dad used to
called every boy I brought home, ‘George’. On one memorable occasion, Dad hosed
down a boy as he attempted the journey to the front door. Dad said he was just
watering the garden. Yeah, Right!
As modern
parents we were not going to be like that.
We’d play it
cool. We wouldn’t play our hand too early. If we approved we’d be pushy. If we
disapproved we’d drive her further into his arms.
We didn’t want
to be the overprotective, nervous wrecks our parents were, when we were her
age. We would do the modern thing. We would remain calm. If we took enough
sleeping tablets we could just about get to sleep while we waited for her to
get home. Almost!
She played it
by the book. She even arranged the formal introduction. ‘Mum, Dad, this is
Prince Charming. Prince Charming, this is Mum and Dad.’
Before this
momentous occasion we were told firmly not to ask him too many questions. We
stood like cardboard cut-out parents wondering what this boy wanted to do when
he grew up, what subjects he liked at school, what footy team he supported. (That’s
an important question in our home.)
These questions
and a thousand more had to wait. The Princess had spoken.
After the first
date I asked her if he’d kissed her. Did she like it?
She looked at
me shocked. ‘It’s just too weird to talk to you about that. You’re an parent!’
What happened
to all those parenting courses, those family round table discussions, those
girl-to-girl chats we’d had? Had they amounted to nothing? Were these topics we
would never discuss again?
It’s not that
we didn’t trust The Princess. We trusted her with our lives. We could endure
anything after her first driving lesson. It’s all that male testosterone we
were worried about. Were all his gifts and attention aimed at a payoff? Where
could we get a good sequined chastity belt for the Modern Miss?
Then I thought
about his mum. Was she his taxi service, as we were hers? Did she deliver her
son to our Den of Seduction and hope this Teenage Temptress would not lead her
Charming Prince astray? Princes need to study too, you know.
I remembered
some of the things I did when I was her age that my Mum and Dad didn’t know
about. Then I really was worried. Should I suggest that my husband water the
garden on date night?
I shoved that
enormous fluffy animal to the back of her wardrobe. I hoped the tiara wasn’t
too uncomfortable for him.
Years have
passed. Prince Charming has moved on. The large fluffy toy departed during a
garage sale.
A King of
Hearts entered the Princess’s life and stole her heart.
As her parents,
we have learned to share our beautiful daughter with a man who she loves, and
who loves her. And delight, delight! The girl-to-girl chats have returned, but
they are Woman-to-Woman chats now. She now thinks of her parents as more than
chauffeurs and financiers. The
fluffy toy dog has been replaced with a breathing menagerie. The Princess has
grown up. She is a Queen of Hearts.
