In the middle of learning – by Donald F. Gately

I’ve been occasionally driving my daughter to school recently. It’s a drive of either 25 or 45 minutes, depending upon the traffic on the local streets between my house and her school. *

She’s 14, so I don’t know what else needs to be said on this subject. 

Dad. Daughter.  14.  Conversation. 

I can probably stop right here. You get it.

I listen to our local public radio station on the way. The soundtrack of my car existence. Unless I’m listening to podcasts (same thing I suppose).

I’ll point out to her the interesting things that are said on the radio. Something about missile systems and Ukraine.  She’ll offer some polite expression of recognition. “Yeah.” “Uh-huh.”  “Really” (not as a question, ‘Really?’, more the affirmation, “Really!”), “I know.” I give her credit; she varies her responses, mistakenly leading me to believe she’s listening to me and to the radio. 

Sometimes, we switch to a music station. When she sings along to a song, I’ll ask her, “How do you know this song?”

Invariably, she responds,  “It’s on TikTok.”  

She knows a lot of songs. 

“Does Mommy know this song?” (It’s not a competition but… you know.)

“Yeah, I think so.” 

I’m left marveling about the things people have time for in their lives. I made the mistake of asking my wife about this.

“How do you know so many of the songs that Juliet knows?”

“You’d know them, too, if you listened something besides podcasts.” 

My wife can say this because she’s the kind of person who knows a great deal about missile systems and Ukraine, as well as the lyrics to the latest song by Chappell Roan. I don’t know how she does this. 

I’m not sure I’ve got the bandwidth for that. For my music tastes to live at the intersection of my wife’s and my 14-year-old daughter’s, I need a longer commute.

 I’m going to look into some private schools in Albany. 

*  As an aside,  at least one day out of the week, I get to do this commute twice when my daughter forgets to bring something to school, and I, the lousy parent that I am, drive back to bring it to her. That’s right, I’m that dad.