Fear Factor
Let me count the ways I'm afraid of my daughter.
by AM Homes
December 11, 2006
And as though it's not enough to worry about the violence, the difficulty
the world will present her with, I have to worry about what she might
do
to herself. In that way, we — my biological mother, my daughter and myself — are
alike. We are dramatic and impulsive — or were, I should say, since my
biological mother died unexpectedly at sixty on her sofa, having refused medical
treatment
for kidney disease. And like her mother and biological grandmother, my daughter
does not hear the word "no" easily. Having grown up in a family where the adults
set no limits, I firmly believe that children need limits. They need to
know that someone is in charge, and that is one of my jobs. "No, you
may not watch television all day. No, you may not go out in the snow wearing a
tutu. No, you may not have candy for breakfast." What I have learned is
that with her, a flat-out "no" doesn't work. I have to work with her,
to win her. I have to think strategically to get her on my side. "Don't
you think it might be chilly on your legs to go out into the snow with just a
tutu on? Don't you think your legs might say, 'Oh, please put some pants
on! I'm freezing'? How about we put your pants on over your tutu, and you
can wear tutu pants?" She loves a good negotiation.
She loves a good negotiation. "It's late tonight," I say, "We're
just going to read one book and then get right to bed." "How about three?" she
asks. "Three?" "This many." She holds up four fingers. "Please." "Two
books," I say. "Oh, Mommy, please," she says, as though you didn't
understand the urgency of the first request. Like I don't understand, like
it is really of great importance that we read three books. Life will never be
the same if I say no — and, of course, it will never be the same if I say yes.
I imagine trying to reason with her later — when she's eight, thirteen, seventeen and twenty-three. How do I teach her to have good judgment, to care what others are doing — to
do what is right for her? How do I make instinctive that she shouldn't
drive drunk, shouldn't drive with anyone she thinks is drunk, shouldn't
drive at all late at night when other drivers are drunk? How do I tell her not
to talk to strangers — when all she does is talk to strangers? And what about
boys — men!
She already loves men. From the time she was six months old, she's
been flirting with waiters, and is, in fact, not happy if men don't pay attention
to her. "Matt," she called out like a two-and-a-half-year-old Mrs. Robinson
when our beloved dog walker arrived. "Matt, come and see me! I'm
in the bathtub." She craves a very specific kind of attention from men. She
knows they are different. She knows they are something she wants. They are strong
and can pick her up and swing her through the air — she is giddy when she gets
them to engage.
©2006 A.M. Homes and Nerve Media
About the Author
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A.M. Homes is the author of numerous novels and short stories, including The
Safety of Objects, The End Of Alice, Music For Torching and This Book Will Save Your Life (Viking, 2006). Her memoir The Mistress's Daughter will be published by Viking in
April 2007. |
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