The Child Lurks Within the Teen

by Fern Kupfer

I ASKED HER last week if she wanted to go with us. It was a casual invitation. No pressure. "Do I have to go?" she had asked. "Not if you don't want to," I told her.

Her father and I had been invited to a Chanukah party with old friends in another town. Families - the kids - had been invited, too. Most of the people had younger children. But there were going to be a couple of teenagers there as well.

At 17, you don't want to hang out with your parents. Especially on a Saturday night if something better comes along. And usually, it does. I'm not insulted. I'm glad our kids have friends.

I had told my friends that Katie might not come. She wanted to be able to make her own decisions about social engagements. She was under a lot of pressure at school, had been kind of moody and, frankly, I didn't feel like starting up with her. They had raised a teenage daughter. They knew. Whatever, they said agreeably.

The grilling started a week before the party. Who was going to be at this party? Katie wanted to know. Well, the hosts' teenage son (they were making him come). And there was another boy - I thought he was a high school junior. But no, I didn't know if he was cute. And I didn't know his politics or his taste in movies.

Only boys? Katie asked.

I thought there was one family that had teenage daughters but I didn't know who they were. Of course, there was a possibility that they were dorky. That Katie would be bored. But she didn't have to go. "Honey," I said, "It's all right if you don't want to."

I was hoping to say this in a cheerful way. What I meant was that her father didn't want to hear complaints about how miserable she was. How she had to give up a Saturday night to be with us at something she didn't want to go to, anyway.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Katie asked.

Beware the hooked teenage tongue. The lure toward an argument. "Sure," I said, adding casual to cheerful. "If you want to come, we'd love to have you. It'll be fun."

"Probably not," Katie responded. "It'll be boring. And I'll have to work to make conversation and bring those boys out." She sighed. "I don't know if I have the energy."

"I know what you mean," I said.

"Listen. Do I have to make a decision now? Can I get back to you on this?" Katie asked.

"Whatever," I said, agreeably.

A couple of days later, she asked what she should wear. Did she have to get dressed up? I told her that it was up to her. What was I wearing, she inquired. I was wearing a sweater and silk pants. But she could wear whatever she wanted. The boys would probably be in jeans. "I don't want to get dressed up if no one else is," she said. Whatever, I said.

At 5 o'clock, the night of the party, I was coming out of the shower when Katie told me she thought she might as well go with us. "Great," I said. "We'll be leaving at six." I didn't add: Please be on time.

I was putting on my makeup when Katie came down with her hair still wet. "Jill called me. Some of the kids are watching movies at her house." She twirled a tendril of wet hair and looked thoughtful. "Maybe I won't go with you after all. Do you mind?"

"No, that's fine," I said, reaching for my earrings. I didn't add: Can't you watch movies anytime?

Katie sat wrapped in a towel on my bed. "I don't know. What do you think? I guess I could watch movies anytime. Do you think I should go with you?"

"Really, it's up to you," I said. I didn't add: You are driving me crazy!

Katie got up off the bed. "I'm going to get dressed. Then I'll decide."

"We'll be in a running car in the driveway at six," I said. "If you're in the back seat, we'll know you're coming with us." It was my first attempt at a little humor. Katie didn't crack a smile.

Later, when I looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she appeared equally sober. I was about to tell her something affirming, that I was glad she was coming with us, but her demeanor made me hold my tongue. My husband, too, was silent. Finally Katie spoke. "Okay, let's pretend . . . " she began and trailed off. I turned around in my seat, puzzled. Did she want to play some childhood car game?

"Let's pretend," she said, finally, finding her voice. "Let's make believe that you both are making me go."

Her father picked right up on it. "Yep, you have to go. And we'll stay as long as we want. And I don't want to hear any complaining about the kind of time you're having either." He sounded stern. Katie laughed.

At the party, she ate latkes, chatted happily with the kids, went down to the basement to listen to one of the boys play guitar. Two women told me how charming she was. I agreed that certainly she could be.

On the car ride home, I watched Katie sleeping peacefully in the back seat, her mouth slightly ajar. In part, the price of freedom may be angst. And I can see that underneath this demanding teenager fighting for her independence is still the insecure child wanting to be told what to do.

Fern Kupfer is a novelist and writing professor at Iowa State University. She is a frequent contributor to Working Moms' Internet Refuge.

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