I rest my hand on the banister and consider following her upstairs. We haven’t spoken about the low grades, but I don’t want to break the delicate thread of connection we established in the Media Studies room.
I adjust the photo; it’s one of the girls when they were young on the swings at the local park. I was back from deployment, looking young and carefree, unaware how life would change in a few short years. As I push Dana, her mouth is open in a wide grin as she clings onto the sides of the swing. Those were the easy days, when they talked to me about everything, and the biggest problem she had was which snuggly toy to bring to the park.
I sigh heavily and turn toward the closed door to the living room. Why is parenting teenagers so damn hard?
Hudson looks up from his position on the couch as I enter the living room. He offered to babysit Nora while I was at the parent-teacher conference. At fourteen, my youngest daughter thinks she’s old enough to stay on her own for a few hours. But I’m not ready for my baby to grow up yet. Besides, Hudson needs experience with kids. With Willow expecting their first child, he needs all the parenting experience he can get.
“How did it go?” He reaches for the remote and mutes the game that’s playing on the TV.
I run a hand over my stubble.
“Good,” I say, thinking about the enthusiastic Brooke and her praise for Dana. Then I think about the other five teachers and the consistent message of grades that could be better. “Bad.” I revise my assessment.
Hudson raises his eyebrows at me. “Which is it, good or bad?”
I head to the kitchen and grab two beers from the fridge, pop the tops off, and hand one to Hudson. I glance toward the closed door and lower my voice. “She’s failing some subjects, not trying in others, and excelling in one.”
I take a long sip of beer. “So, good and bad, and I have no idea what to do with that.”
Hudson swigs his beer and nods thoughtfully. “You know what they taught us in training?” Hudson is an ex-Navy SEAL, like me.
“How to carry a boat over your head while running ten miles in the rain?”
He chuckles. “Aside from that. Lean into your strengths.”
I take another swig of beer and contemplate my complex daughter.
Hudson’s right. If there’s one thing Dana excels at, then I should encourage her in that. But I can’t let her fail her other subjects. The problem is, I have no idea what she wants to do when she leaves school at the end of the year. She may need a certain grade average for any course she wants to take or to get into college.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know my daughter at all.”
Hudson eyes me warily. “She’s a good kid, Joel. And she’s smart. She’ll figure it out.”
“How was Nora?”
Hudson smiles. “Fine. She did her homework, we watched Grand Designs, and she went up to her room at exactly eight-thirty so she could read before bed. I went up at nine to tuck her in, and she was already asleep. No problems at all.”
That sounds like Nora. My youngest is studious, quiet, and already knows she wants to be an architect. Her grades are good and consistent, and every teacher loves her. My two daughters couldn’t be more different.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
Hudson finishes his beer, and I see him out.
After the door shuts behind him, I head back to the living room. Dana’s school bag is on the floor where she dumped it this afternoon, and I pick it up to put it by the door.
It’s heavy, and I unzip it to find what she’s got in there. I find her full water bottle and a library book on documentary filmdirectors. She’s really into this subject. How could I have missed this? How long has she been nurturing this quiet passion?
At the bottom of the bag, I find a scrunched-up piece of paper. I smooth it flat on the dining room table. It’s a note from the school, the permission slip for the upcoming school field trip.
I wonder when she was going to give it to me. Typical Dana, to be so interested in a subject, but still utterly forgetful.
I probably missed an email about it too. There’s so much communication from the school I sometimes miss things. The only reason they’ve sent a paper copy is because it needs a signature.
I read the information about the trip. They’re going to the Pine Creek camp and staying in shared cabins for three nights. I frown at the paper. There will be boys going. Dana’s not shown much interest in boys. I suspect she’s too picky, or they’re too scared of her sassy mouth, which is fine by me. But she’ll be away for four days.
I wonder if the enthusiastic Brooke, with the bright eyes and wide smile, can control a group of teenagers. I guess I have to trust my daughter to make good choices and keep out of trouble.
I fill in her name and sign my permission.
