The Delight of Mortifying My Adolescent

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As I glance at my watch, I think, “Uh oh, am I late?” But no, I’m right on time. I turn down the radio just in time for my daughter, Emma, to hop into the car.

“I could hear that music all the way from the sidewalk!” she snaps. “You’re so cringeworthy.” Had I been blasting one of her favorite pop artists, perhaps it would have been different. But instead, I was jamming out to Kansas—specifically, “Carry On My Wayward Son.” How can you not crank that song up to eleven? Honestly, she was lucky I wasn’t air-drumming along.

It seems that my 13-year-old is easily embarrassed these days. This wasn’t always the case. When she was younger, my antics made me the fun parent. I fondly recall our car rides to preschool, belting out tunes from “The Little Mermaid” or even later, introducing her to classics like “It’s Tricky” and “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” But one fateful day, that all changed.

We were shopping at the grocery store when a Lionel Richie song began playing. Unbeknownst to me, I started singing along—perhaps even dancing a bit.

“We’re going to… party, karamu, fiesta, for—”

“STOP THAT!” she exclaimed.

Her response shocked me. I thought she’d find it amusing.

“What? Am I embarrassing you?”

Emma leaned closer and whispered, “YES.”

And just like that, the era of the fun parent came to an abrupt end. My wife experienced similar reactions, marking our transition to a new parenting phase: the moment our child began to feel shame in our presence.

Initially, we tried to preserve Emma’s dignity by acting less goofy in public. However, as she entered her tween years, her self-consciousness skyrocketed. By the time she hit her teenage years, even the slightest of our actions—like smiling or blinking—could trigger her embarrassment. Eventually, my wife and I realized we couldn’t win, so we decided to embrace our role as the “embarrassing parents.” We committed to making it our mission to mortify our teenager at every opportunity.

Let’s be honest; she had her moments of shaming us as well. I vividly recall a massive tantrum at an arts festival when she was two, causing a local band to halt their performance mid-song. And who could forget her yelling at a smoker outside a Quiznos at age four, or singing “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee” in the library at five, inadvertently revealing that one of us (cough) had let her watch “Grease” a tad too early?

Now, it’s our turn, and honestly, it’s a blast—and so easy that it hardly feels fair. A simple call of her silly nickname, “Emma-bear,” in front of her friends or showing up at school in sweatpants is all it takes.

Just two nights ago, we were driving home after dinner when “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” came on. My wife and I began dancing in our seats, totally in the groove.

“Stop,” Emma commanded. Naturally, we ignored her.

“I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
You wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’”

“STOP!” she insisted, but we kept going.

“Too high to get over, yeah yeah!
Too old to get under, yeah yeah!
You’re stuck in the middle, yeah yeah!
And the pain is thunder, yeah yeah!”

“PLEASE STOP! PLEASE!” Emma was practically yelling now. We sat at a stoplight, completely devoid of any other cars in sight.

“Why?” I asked. “No one can see us.” It didn’t matter to her; she was mortified.

As the chorus came around again, my wife and I decided to add a call-and-response twist for extra fun.

Her: Someone’s always tryin’
Me: To start my baby cryin’
Her: Talkin’, squealin’, lyin’
Both: Sayin’ you just want to be startin’ somethin’.

Just then, a car pulled up next to us. The occupants were oblivious to our antics, but poor Emma looked as if she might burst into tears. I finally turned down the volume and stopped dancing to spare her.

Moments later, we pulled into our driveway. Emma got out of the car without saying a word, still fuming, and headed towards the house. Not ready to let the moment go, I rolled down the window.

“Don’t leave!” I called after her. “You’re gonna miss the best part.”

I cranked up the radio again, and my wife and I resumed our rendition:

“Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!
Mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ku-sa!”

Emma shot us a death glare, bolted inside, and slammed the door. We continued singing, relishing our role as the mortifying parents.

In summary, the transition from being the fun parent to the embarrassing one is an inevitable part of parenting during the teenage years. Instead of resisting it, embracing the humor in these moments can create lasting memories, even as our teenagers roll their eyes.

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