Renaissance Dad: Preparing for the Teenage Apocalypse (Or, “There Oughta Be an App”)
As a young family man, I often fantasized about the kind of father I would be as my daughter grew older.
I would be in my study, typing away on my vintage Smith-Corona typewriter, finishing my next bestselling novel, and there would be a polite knock at my door. Setting down my Hemmingway hand knurled pipe and straightening my tie, I would say, “Come in.”
The door would open, my teenage daughter would peek her head in and ask, “Is this a good time, Daddy? Mother ran to the store to pick up your favorite ice cream and I need some advice.”
I would smile and nod in a wise fatherly fashion. “Of course, my dear, come in and have a seat in one of the over-stuffed antique leather chairs!”
She would softly close the door behind her, take a seat and wait in respectful silence while I relit my pipe and leaned forward, resting my hands lightly on the surface of my polished oak writing desk.
(As you might have guessed, we watched a lot of re-runs when I was a kid.)
Fast forward a dozen years. My baby girl is now teetering precariously on the brink of the teenager apocalypse, and I am reluctantly facing the reality that I may need to . . . adjust some of my preconceived notions.
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