Driven Daughter

The General gets grouchy every year right before her birthday.  Okay, she gets grouchy every year during and after her birthday, too.  She’s very driven.  Driven people are easily frustrated when their determination doesn’t move mountains today.  Tomorrow’s too late when you’re driven.

Unlike any other time, she has reason to be grouchy before her birthday.  “Something bad will happen,” she says.  “Something bad always happens around my birthday.  My birthdays suck.”   

It’s not my fault she was born when bad things tend to happen.  One year we stuffed everything we owned into garbage bags, stuffed them in our car and ran out of town, my ex having legal problems.  One year we couldn’t live in nor finish the house we were building and moved into my office at work on her birthday.  I left my ex the week of her tenth birthday.  

This week she turns sixteen.  She points to herself and pretends she’s driving.  “Five more days,” she says.  “Me, on the road, driving.”

“Not until you get a job,” we say.

“I’m too busy.”

“No job; no car insurance.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” she says and leaves.  She’s driven and even reality won’t get in the way.

“It’s like she tries to make her ideal world fit the real world,” Charlie says.  “She pounds and forces her vision, thinking if she just pushes a little more, everything will go the way she plans.”

“Sixteen,” she says and points to herself.  “Four days.  It better not suck.”

“If you think you’re getting a car for your birthday,” we say, “it will suck.  You know the deal.”

The deal is she’s not driving if she doesn’t have insurance.  She’s the youngest.  All the other kids and step-kids had the same deal.  The day they don’t pay their insurance is the day we get their car.  This rule seemed reasonable when applied to other people with her same genes.  With her, it’s ignorance on our part.

“I can’t work,” she says.  “I’m doing three Varsity sports.  Okay, make me give up swimming which is my favorite thing in the world.  Fine.”

There’s no discussion because she won’t discuss. 

“Three more days,” she says.  “Me: Sixteen, driving my own car.”

“Don’t think so.”

“I knew my birthday would suck.”  She stays downstairs, looking confrontational.

The Vegan, being her brother and having special sibling antenna, senses a potential squabble.  He comes out of his room, sits as close as he can without being in the same room, and turns on “Full Metal Jacket.”  He makes sure the volume is loud enough so we can hear R. Lee Armey yelling things like, “You bunch of maggots!”

“You’re not driving,” Charlie says.  “Not until you get a job.”

“I’m going to tear your head off,” R. Lee shouts from the TV, “and sh*t down your neck!”

“Fine, I’ll get a job,” she says, ignoring the TV.  “When am I supposed to do my homework?  I’m getting two D’s already.”

“What the hell is this?” R. Lee shouts.  “You make me sick!”

“And I won’t have any friends and I won’t go to College,” she says.

“You’re being selfish,” Charlie says.  He says a few more things and one of those things is saying she’s acting like an assh*le. 

R. Lee and the TV are quiet but we can hear the Vegan laughing.  He’s got front row seats to watch her learn boundaries.  Brothers of driven sisters live for this moment.

She doesn’t have anything to say.  Charlie starts laughing along with the Vegan.  Somebody better be the grown-up.

“Say you’re sorry,” I tell Charlie.

“I’m sorry.”

R. Lee yells, “Sound off like you have a pair.”

“You said I’m selfish,” she says.  “Aren’t you going to apologize for that, too?”

“No,” Charlie says.  “You are selfish.”

“No I’m not.”

 “Yeah, you are,” I say.  “You’re a girl and you’re almost sixteen.  You’re supposed to be selfish.  That’s okay.”

“You’re not an assh*le, though,” Charlie says.  “Sorry.”

“I can’t work and do sports.  That’s the only thing I care about, the only reason I go to school.  I can’t have a social life.  I can’t go out or anything.”

“Choose what’s important,” Charlie says.  “You don’t have to work that much.”

“Fine, I won’t have time for Young Life.  All so I can have a crappy car.”

“What parent sells their beautiful Jeep to buy a crappy car and get their daughter a car, too?”

<>She looked over at me and didn’t say anything.

“The only things that come out of Texas is queers and steers and I don’t see any horns on you,” R. Lee shouts.

“Turn that down!” Charlie says.

“You’re just freaking out because you think everyone’s going to forget your birthday,” I say.

She starts crying.  For me, parenting is a guessing game.  I guessed right this time.

“Everybody loves you,” I say.  “Quit worrying.”

R. Lee stops shouting in the background so I know we’re done, too.  The Vegan only hangs around when there’s potential sibling name-calling.    

On her birthday, the General wanted to go to the DMV and flunk the written test again, which she did.  She had been given so many birthday gifts and balloons she couldn’t carry them all.  I had to pick her up and help her out.

The next day, her Dad took her to take the driving part of the test.  She passed it, then took the written part for the third time.  This time, she passed.  I knew right away.  Her Dad called and told me.

“She says she’s going to take the car, pick up her friends and go to McDonald’s,” he said.  “Is she insured?”

“Not unless you’re insuring her.”  

“I don’t have the pennies, the pennies to pay for her insurance,” he says.  “I’m having a hard time scraping together the pennies to buy bread.”

“If she’s driving your car, she should have your insurance.”

“I haven’t got the pennies.”

All this does is make me happy not to be his wife anymore. 

The General is never better than when she wants something.  She wants a car more than anything.  She couldn’t be better lately.

We’re in jobless Oregon, so it’ll be a while before she gets hired.  For once, I can wait.

A little help? [] 5:53:17 PM