By: Ellen Carter
“Wait until you hear what Mark said today,” my husband laughs, tossing a single ice cube into his glass. Mark, a colleague of his, has a daughter the same age as our seventh grader, Lily.
“What did he say?” I inquire, slicing cucumbers for a salad.
“He walked into the lounge looking totally worn out. After a big sigh, he asked, ‘Has your household been thrown into chaos by the breakup of One Direction?’”
I burst out laughing. “What did you say?”
“I told him, ‘Lily couldn’t care less about One Direction. If someone like Benedict Cumberbatch announced he was leaving Sherlock, or if they canceled Doctor Who or Supernatural, then we’d have a real crisis. But One Direction? No way.’”
“Praise the Nerd Gods that our kid got our Nerd Genes,” I say, popping a crouton into my mouth. “She mentioned some girls at school were losing it over it, though. Like, crying.”
“Right?” my husband shakes his head. “It’s total emotional chaos. All that crying and drama. Talk about an overload.”
“Zayn?” I wrinkle my nose. “Seriously, who names their kid that?”
Later that evening, I receive a Facebook message from my friend Rachel. Her daughter, Mia, is also 13.
“Mia’s facing some serious bullying from her group of friends,” she writes. “They’re all massive One Direction fans, and Mia isn’t into them anymore. After she made a comment about Zayn leaving, they turned on her. Now she’s getting flooded with mean texts and nasty comments on her Facebook.”
“That’s awful,” I reply. “How is Mia doing?”
“She’s upset but managing enough to talk to me, which I’m thankful for. I reassured her that it’s ridiculous and that I’m proud she’s being herself. But guess what? Those girls went on Instagram and blurred Mia’s face out of every group photo.”
Reading that, I feel a chill. While times may change, some things remain unsettlingly similar.
In the summer before eighth grade, I faced a similar fate. My group of “friends” decided it was time for me to be outcast. It wasn’t unexpected; they frequently turned on one another. The swiftness and cruelty of it left me breathless. One afternoon, a boy from my class called out of the blue.
“Hey,” he said, “Did you know your friends took all the pictures with you in them and burned them?”
I hung up the phone. The message was clear: We can erase you. Without us, you don’t exist.
At 13, I was still figuring out who I was. I knew I was shy, loved reading, and wasn’t keen on math, but that was about it. What did I really know about navigating life’s complexities?
This past weekend, we took Lily and her sister to the mall. At one point, I drifted away to hunt for Easter goodies. On the drive home, my husband grinned at Lily through the rearview mirror.
“Hey, Lily, want to share what you said at the mall?”
She rolled her eyes and threw on her headphones but smiled slightly. “Dad, seriously?”
“Come on, spill it.”
“Well,” he said, chuckling, “I needed shaving gel and took the girls into Sephora. Lily walked in and recoiled, saying, ‘What the heck are we doing here? This place sells makeup!’”
I turned to Lily, who was avoiding eye contact. “Hey, Lily! What’s wrong with makeup?”
“Mom!” she exclaimed, shaking her head and putting her headphones back on. “Gross popular girls wear makeup. All they care about is boys. They’re the worst. No way you’ll catch me wearing that stuff.”
It was a warm day, and once we got home, Lily rushed to the backyard, headphones still on, heading straight for the swings. I watched her through the kitchen window, pumping her legs to soar higher. My husband joined me, grinning at our daughter.
“She loves swinging,” I said.
“She’s a great kid,” he replied. “But why the worry?”
“This age can be brutal. Kids are so mean, and I don’t think she has the tools to handle it. She’s still a kid at heart. Look at her—five foot seven and swinging like a little girl.”
“But isn’t that a good thing?” he asked. “She’s not boy-crazy or trying to grow up too fast.”
“True, and I’m thankful for that,” I admitted. “But it’s the others I worry about.”
“Kids can be ruthless, but she’s smart,” he reassured me.
“She proudly calls herself a nerd. I wonder if she really means it deep down.”
He placed his hand on my back. “She’s fine. Relax and enjoy her for who she is.”
Enjoy her. Just as she is—my quirky, brilliant girl with wild curls. I took a moment to appreciate her soaring high, feeling grateful for her uniqueness.
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Summary: Embracing the nerdy aspects of my daughter’s personality makes me grateful as she navigates the trials of adolescence. Despite the cruelty of some peers, I appreciate her individuality and the joy she brings.
Keyphrase: Why I’m Grateful for My Nerdy Teen Daughter
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