“Dad,” she said. “I got my application for band camp.”

“Oh good,” I said. “When is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How much is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you wanna go to it?”

“Really bad. Can I please?”

I thought long and hard about saying “I don’t know,” but I couldn’t be that sarcastic. That condescending. But I really wanted to. So I just shrugged my shoulders and told her, “Bring me some answers and we’ll see.”

“Well, how am I supposed to find all that stuff out?” she asked.

“I don’t know ... perhaps if you tried asking YOUR BAND DIRECTOR MAYBE?!”

“But dad, I can’t.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

You tell me ... cuz I don’t know. I don’t have clue No. 1 what happens to a kid’s brain when they hit 13. It’s just not natural. They could be the smartest kid in the world. They could bring home straight A’s, they could conquer every subject thrown at them, but they will always flunk Crucial Details 101. <continued below>

Same thing happened when I was a kid. Mom and Dad always asked what was new or what I did on a particular day at school.

My response was usually: “Nothin’.”

But back to the future ...

My kid desperately wants to go to band camp. Her two reasons for having this strong desire are, 1) there’s a dance every night and 2) she gets to go shopping with a bunch of other 13-year-old girls.

“You want to go to band camp so you can go to dances and go shopping?” She nodded yes.

“Oh well, I can certainly justify the expense for that. By the way, have you found out yet how much it is that I am going to have to justify?” I figured I was just setting myself up for another “I don’t know.”

“$440,” she said.

“And for that kinda dough, when you graduate from this little band
shopping spree-slash-social event of yours, I’m guessin’ you’re guaranteed a spot in a major metropolitan symphony orchestra, correct?”  I had no desire to discuss finances with a 13-year-old who can’t yet understand why I haven’t bought her a car even though we’re still almost three years from DL-Day. I figure if she actually told me the cost of the band camp, that was a major victory in our little ongoing parent-child communications battle.

Feeling defeated in the wake of this tiny victory, I was about to let the conversation die completely when fortunately the phone rang. It was mom and dad. Calling at their appointed time. They call the same same time every week. They’re just like one of those bird clocks. In our house, we always know by the sound of the Rocky Mountain Woodpecker that it’s 8 o’clock. If the phone rings at six o’clock Sundays, it’s ALWAYS mom and dad. If the phone doesn’t ring at 6 every Sunday evening, chances are there’s something seriously wrong. Like a really long line at the cafeteria. Or something wasn’t cooked well-done enough at the cafeteria. Or the tea lady at the cafeteria ran short on sugar or long on conversation.

Anyway, I talked to Mom and Dad on the phone for several minutes. It’s always a pleasure to speak to them. But frankly, seldom is there any earth-shattering news that results from these phone calls. I finished the conversation, told my parents to be safe, and hung up.

“Was that your parents?” Mrs. P said.

I told her it was.

“How are they?”

“Fine,” I said.

“How’s your brother?”

“Fine.”

“Your sister?”

“OK.”

“Did your Dad get a cat yet?”

“I forgot to ask.”

“How’s their weather?”

“Fine I guess.”

“How’s your mom feeling?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Your dad feeling any better?”

“Sounded like it.”

“So what else did they say?”

“Not much.”

By this time, Mrs. P was as aggravated as I’d seen her in days.

“You are the absolute worst,” she said.

“What? What did I do?”

“You DO NOT know how to convey information after your parents call,” Mrs. P said.

“They didn’t say anything. They let me do all of the talking.”

Mrs. P said that if she ever wanted to know anything about my parents she’d be sure never to ask me again.

“You are so frustrating to talk to when you don’t say anything,” she
told me.

“I know plenty. Mom’s fine. Dad’s fine. My brother and sister are fine. My Dad probably doesn’t have a cat yet because he didn’t say anything about it. They’re both probably feeling OK because they didn’t talk about the way they felt. So when I bundle it all up like that, I’m full of information. What else do you want to know?”

The little lecture apparently didn’t sit well with her.

“What’s wrong. You got quiet all of a sudden?”

She shrugged.

“Is something bothering you?

“Nothing.”

“Are you angry?”

“I don’t know.”

“FINE!” I finally said, beaten down by her tactic. “You know something? You Patterson women are all alike. You never have the important details.

“Well, I wonder where we learned THAT from?” she said.

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