My daughter went to a barbeque tonight at the Catholic school she attends. Driving home, we have the radio on, with her favorite station, Q 102-trashtalk. "Everyone's singing this but some of the language is inappropriate", sais Sian demurely. I listen more closely. Some guy named Shorti (slang for lover, I suppose) is moaning about how he is his woman's "lollipop."
I start to address this with her, then shut up when I recall it's nothing, at ten, that Mr C needs to hear. Even if he often acts like a wise old man.
Actually, I'm a little pissed that I have to have this conversation with S. After all, she's only thirteen. But all of her classmates are dating, she tells me, and I want her to be...well-as innocent as a dove, and wise as a serpent.
She tells me her drama camp friends like to joke about sex. My theory-that they joke because they aren't yet comfortable-is met with incredulity. She thinks most of her friends just have it easier, because mom isn't always setting limits.
"Emily (a classmate) stays up until two, instant messaging her friends and watching TV," she says as I lie on her bed before she goes to sleep.
Does that sound fun? I ask. Yes, but I can't do that, because I have a mom who is over protective," she asserts.
Overprotective, am I? Well, I reflect, as we share "I love yous" and I close the door half way so S can see the bathroom light-there are many worse things a parent could be called.
No guilt here tonight.
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