It’s the YouTube debut of my 14-year-old daughter, Lily. She sports a plaid bow tie over her My Chemical Romance t-shirt, and her hair is slicked to her forehead, reminiscent of Paul McCartney in the late ’60s—not the one with Wings, mind you. With a flick of her wrist, she turns on the camera and steps back into the spotlight.
“Ahem.” She clears her throat, bows slightly—a grand gesture fit for royalty—and wets the tip of her recorder. Without warning, she launches into a tune.
For the next two minutes, I wince and shield my eyes while she enthusiastically plays Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” on a penny whistle she “borrowed” from her brother. She believes she’s amusing, and perhaps she is, but the cringe factor is real.
While I appreciate her vibrato, an unsettling thought gnaws at me—will she ever get a boyfriend? Or even a friend? A girl with dyed black hair and a love for ’80s pop isn’t exactly the most popular choice among the sophomore crowd.
Yet when she finishes, I find myself with my mouth agape, the sound of the recorder still echoing in my ears. I’m left with a sense of admiration. She’s a unique individual, marching to the beat of her own drum—or rather, her thrifty instrument. Yes, she may be a dork, but she’s my dork. My creation.
It’s a reminder of my own teenage years, filled with awkwardness. Drum major of the marching band, the occasional section leader of the alto saxophones, and a “serial dater” in the percussion section. I had a white girl afro that could rival a poodle’s fluffiness, and yes, I wore it with full-on ’80s flair. For goodness’ sake, I even endured a lip bumper during middle school (don’t ask; it was a disaster!).
My first kiss was comically disastrous: “Oh, wait. Hold on. Let me just—SLUUURRRP. Okay, now I’m ready. Where do we put our tongues?” I had what the French call a certain je ne sais quoi, or at least I thought so, speaking French at the most inappropriate moments.
Watching Lily’s rendition of her Rick Astley cover made me anxious, but it also filled me with pride. So, in honor of all the quirky kids out there, let’s take a moment to raise a toast.
Here’s to the unique children, the eccentrics, the nerds, and the classroom geeks. To those who eagerly raise their hands because they know the answers. Who pump their fists in triumph when math tests are returned, and who stay late for Reading Club.
Here’s to the 15-year-old boys doodling Pokémon in their notebooks, crafting secret handshakes with their younger neighbors in their backyard forts. To the emo girl in the back row with spiked hair and fishnet stockings—who knows if she’s even a girl?
Let’s not forget the percussion section of the high school marching band—oh, you all hold a special place in my heart. To the kids on the Debate Team and the students who formed the Hello Kitty Slash Brad Pitt Fan Club just last night.
And now, from my perspective as a mom, here’s to us! The mothers who hold their heads high while their sons carry around naked Barbie dolls because they believe she resembles Grandma. The ones sitting in the bleachers long after the crowd has dispersed, cheering for a daughter still on lap 3 of the race.
Here’s to the moms who bite their tongues while their daughters dye their hair jet black or line their eyes with purple. To the mothers with garages filled with skateboards, science experiments, or band instruments. And to those who silently wonder, “Why me?” while their son lugs a bass drum upstairs, only to remind him of the hardwood floors—before making herself a martini.
Let’s raise a glass to the moms who encourage their children to be themselves, even on the tough days. We may struggle, but life with a “quirky” child is never dull.
So here’s to the ones of us who march to our own rhythm, who play life by our own rules. It may be easier without the unique kids, but it would certainly lack joy.
For more insights on parenting and preparing for family life, check out resources like Mount Sinai’s infertility guide and articles from Make a Mom.
Summary
In this heartfelt piece, Emma Richards shares her experiences as a mother of a quirky teenager. Through a blend of humor and nostalgia, she celebrates the uniqueness of eccentric kids and the joys and challenges of parenting. From the awkwardness of youth to the pride in individuality, she raises a toast to the peculiar yet wonderful journey of raising children who dare to be different.