Lately, I’ve been getting the impression that my tween daughter views me as a bit…well, old-fashioned. When I suggest she grab a sweater for school, she rolls her eyes and smiles, tossing it into her backpack as if it’s just a way to appease me.
When I ask her to call a friend to coordinate a carpool, she chuckles and shakes her head, opting for a quick text instead of the “ancient” act of making a phone call. It’s amusing and a tad disheartening when I get excited about her wanting to borrow a piece of my wardrobe, only to realize she’s planning to wear it ironically—what I once wore with pride is now a source of amusement for her.
I try to instill good manners with advice like, “Never do anything you wouldn’t want to see on the front page of a newspaper.” She stares at me blankly before kindly reminding me, “Oh, you mean don’t do anything that might show up on Instagram?” It’s moments like these that really highlight the generational gap.
During our playful moments, I sometimes hit her with a pillow and shout “Makeup!” She giggles, but the other day she asked, “Why do you always say that?” When I explained its roots in old Hollywood, she nodded as if to say, “That’s sweet, Mom; it’s nice that you remember those times.”
Honestly, she makes me feel a bit like a vintage piece of decor. But I assure you, I’m not sitting here in mom jeans or knitting while surrounded by a dozen cats.
So, what makes her think I’m a relic? Perhaps I’ll ask her on our outing today.
“Oh my gosh, Mom! Are you wearing a fanny pack?” she exclaims.
“No, no!” I protest. “It’s a stylish little pouch for my money that clips to my belt loop. It’s called a Hip Clip!” I hold it up with pride.
“Oh, Mom,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “You’re just too cute!”
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In summary, while it’s clear my daughter sees me as somewhat outdated, I cherish the moments we share, and I’m learning to embrace my “quirky” side.