As I glance at the clock, a thought crosses my mind, “Am I running late?” Nope, not today. I lower the volume of the radio just as my daughter hops into the car.
“I could hear the music from way over there!” she snaps at me. “You’re so embarrassing.”
Had I been blasting her favorite artists like Taylor Swift or Ed Sheeran, she might not have been so upset. But no, I was rocking out to Kansas—“Carry On My Wayward Son,” of course! How can you resist cranking that up? She was lucky I didn’t break into an air drum solo.
I’ve realized that it doesn’t take much these days to mortify my 13-year-old, and it wasn’t always this way. When kids are young, they adore your silliness and see you as the fun parent. I have fond memories of driving her to preschool, singing along to “Under the Sea” or “I Like To Move It,” and later introducing her to classics like “It’s Tricky” and “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” But one fateful day, everything shifted.
I remember shopping at the grocery store when she was 10. A Lionel Richie song came on, and without thinking, I started to sing along, maybe even dance a little. We’re going to… party, karamu, fiesta, for—“STOP THAT!”
I was taken aback. I thought she would laugh.
“What? Am I embarrassing you?”
She leaned in and whispered, “YES.”
And just like that, the era of the fun parent came to an abrupt end. My wife shared similar experiences around the same time, and we both knew we had crossed a parental milestone—our child was officially embarrassed by us.
Initially, we tried to preserve her dignity by acting more reserved in public. However, as Kiki entered her tween years, she became increasingly self-conscious, quick to scold us for any behavior that might attract attention. By the time she hit her teenage years, even our most innocent actions—like smiling or breathing—could trigger her embarrassment. Eventually, we realized we had lost the battle, so we made the decision to embrace our roles as professional embarrassers. It became clear that humiliating a teenager is not just a right, but a parental duty, and we eagerly sought out opportunities to do so.
Let’s not forget, she was no saint either! I recall her epic meltdown at an arts festival when she was two, which was so loud that a band had to stop playing mid-song until we whisked her away. And then there was the time at Quiznos when she yelled at a smoker outside for doing something we’d taught her was harmful. Oh, and how could I forget her belting out “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity” in the library at age five, revealing that one of us (ahem) let her watch Grease way too early.
Now it’s our turn, and it’s almost too easy. All it takes is calling her by her silly nickname, Kiki-loo, in front of her friends or showing up at school in sweatpants.
Just the other night, we were driving home from dinner when “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” came on. My wife and I couldn’t resist dancing in our seats, completely in the moment.
“Stop,” Kiki pleaded. But naturally, we didn’t.
I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
You wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
“STOP!” she cried. We ignored her and kept singing.
Too high to get over, yeah yeah!
Too old to get under, yeah yeah!
You’re stuck in the middle, yeah yeah!
And the pain is thunder, yeah yeah!
“PLEASE STOP! PLEASE!” she shouted as we waited at a stoplight. Even though no other cars were around, her mortification was palpable.
“Why?” I asked. “No one can see us.” But it didn’t matter. She was mortified.
As we reached the chorus again, we decided to mix it up with a call-and-response.
Her: Someone’s always tryin’
Me: To start my baby cryin’
Her: Talkin’, squealin’, lyin’
Both: Sayin’ you just want to be startin’ somethin’.
Just then, a car pulled up next to us, and even though they didn’t notice our antics, Kiki looked as if she might burst into tears. Finally, I turned down the music, and we stopped our little dance party.
When we pulled into the driveway, Kiki got out without a word, still fuming, and headed into the house. As Michael Jackson continued singing, I rolled down the window.
“Don’t leave!” I called after her. “You’re gonna miss the best part!”
With that, I cranked up the radio again, and my wife and I sang along with glee.
Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!
Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!
Kiki shot us a death glare, bolted into the house, and slammed the door. But we kept singing, our laughter echoing into the night.
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In summary, the transition from being the fun parent to the embarrassing one can be jarring, but embracing that role can lead to unforgettable moments. While it may be challenging to navigate the teenage years, finding joy in the chaos and laughter can make the journey worthwhile.