My Teenage Daughter Is Too Political to Be Polite
The latest installment of "Ask a Banner Carrier," a new advice column
Editor’s note: new political columns and Tal’s take on sandwiches will resume in October, after a major book deadline.
— David
Dear Banner Carrier,
So, here's the question: I have a 16-year-old firebrand of a daughter who comes by it naturally (myself, both of her grandmothers, and great-grandmothers are firebrands, and her great-great-grandmother was a suffragette!) and has our full support in engaging with the current issues of the day, from the destruction of democracy to civil rights and everything within. We’ve been marching together since she was in elementary school, and as she’s gotten older she’s gotten a little more, let’s say, intolerant. The girl has no fear in arguing with an adult, be it family, friend, or most recently, a tour guide. My problem isn’t that she stands up for what’s right, it’s that I grew up very differently than she is and my Southern roots require me to be polite when I’m telling someone they’re wrong. Or to simply move on if I feel the person will be unmoved and I won’t ever have to see them again, anyway.
Here’s where I admit that I also have a fear of her attacking before thoroughly understanding a person, an issue, or a situation. Given her passion she has, at times, shot first and asked questions later. I find this unpleasant and embarrassing. Still, given the history of shutting women up I’d rather she be proactive than sit quietly and let someone’s horrible take live inside her mind and body until she explodes on the next person to cross her path.
My question isn’t how to change her behavior, as I know she will face her own consequences for her own actions for better, and for worse. And I know we absolutely need to be raising our children to fight against, well, all of the things. My question is how to stop flinching when we’re in a situation where I know she's about to go off, and to silence my inner charm school instructor?
Signed,
Mom Demanding (Polite) Action
The Sword and the Sandwich is a newsletter about serious extremism and equally serious sandwiches. Please consider supporting this work with a paid subscription:
Dear Mom,
It’s an absolute law that teenagers are embarrassed of their parents. My dad used to do early-morning bike workouts and also make us breakfast at 6 A.M., so he would occasionally escort us to the school bus in Spandex, which was mortifying. Also, the meals sometimes involved Brussels sprouts and/or fish, which made me not the most popular girl on the bus (and I was already facing some obstacles in that area). I was ashamed at the time. Now, of course, I think about him waking up at 5 a.m. and making breakfast for his kids and getting a workout in too and am both awed and grateful—although still haunted by a particular yellow-and-black Spandex unitard that made him look like a muscular bumblebee.
The other natural law of teenager-hood is that parents are often at odds with—or embarrassed by—their teenagers. Sixteen is such a weird age—it’s all passion and discovery, your brain swelling every day with a surfeit of new neurons and a carwash full of hormones sloshing through the system every day. I grew up relatively innocent of politics (which meant passively supporting George W. Bush, I guess, insofar as I thought about politics at all, which was basically never), but I also grew up in far less turbulent political times. You’re justly proud of your political heritage, and your efforts to impart it to your child. You’re also a firsthand witness to how the ironclad convictions you’ve instilled are mixing with teenage volatility, and the keen sense of injustice every kid seems to feel, before the sharp corners of that sensation are worn away by a cruel and abrasive world. It’s at odds with your sense of manners and sometimes your sense of fairness, and you’re wondering how to “stop flinching.”
No parent can prevent their kid from making mistakes, nor should they seek to—as you mentioned, consequences can be vital lessons of their own. I don’t think, though, that you need to bemoan the emotions you’re feeling. The collisions you’re witnessing are products of the upbringing you instilled and your child’s precious, tumultuous and thankfully short teenage years; soon enough they’ll pass and you may even look on them with fondness. It’s possible that some of the flinching comes from what you perceive as her unfairness; perhaps some of it stems from a directness that you, with your Southern-schooled politeness, cannot muster, even when it’s called for. Instead of flinching, perhaps you can observe more keenly, and try to untangle when her fierce directness is just making you uncomfortable, and when it’s genuinely too hasty, and help her glean which is which. Don’t chide yourself for flinching—the “meta-emotions” of could and should are not often useful. But if you can, try to hold still, watch yourself flinch, and then look further. You may be surprised by what you learn.
Yours truly,
The Banner Carrier
