Tween

Somewhere between the silly string and water balloons and face painting and hair glitter and confetti eggs, it hit me like a ton of bricks at the local school fun fair today. I’ve become a tween.

No, not my kids. Me. I’m the tween. I’m like the Disney channel. I’m like Justice, the clothing store. I’m like Justin Bieber with the awkward voice cracking. I’m halfway between the dad my kids want to hang out with and the dad my kids want to leave on a bench while they go off with their friends and have fun. I’m a tween and it stinks.

At the school fun fair today, I was stood up at the Scrambler. My eight year-old daughter asked me to go on it, but then she spotted one of her friends and she dumped me.

The Scrambler is our thing. OUR thing. Mom won’t go on it because it makes her feel like throwing up. The kids used to be too little to go on it alone. So, I was ‘the guy.’ Not today. Today, I was like Ducky in ‘Pretty In Pink,’ the nice guy there for the girl, who gets left behind like a total dink.

Then came my other daughter. My other daughter wanted me to watch her on the obstacle course and then on the swings. And then she spotted a friend. And then SHE dumped me.

Ducky again. I became ‘the wallet.’ I was relegated to the role of the go-to guy for cash and ride tickets and trips to the bathroom. I was the guy who was supposed to watch the kids from afar to make sure they didn’t break any laws, but stay out of their hair while they did their own thing. Screw them and their growing up. It stinks.

I didn’t give birth to these kids, but I certainly care for these kids. I help raise these kids and teach these kids and clothe these kids, and this is how they repay me. Next thing I know, they’ll want to have sleepovers and go to school dances and, dare I say it, actually date a boy. Then I’ll graduate from tween to dad-been.

Dad-been the has-been. I’ll officially be the old guy at home who gets a tie and shirt on Father’s Day at brunch before the girls ask to take the car keys so they can go get together with friends. Mom will remind them that Father’s Day is only one day a year and guilt them into hanging out with me a little while longer.
OK, maybe I’m being a little too harsh…

The girls and I eventually left the fair after saying goodbye to their friends, and it was this guy who got to take them home. It’ll be that way for a little while longer, anyway.

Maybe the Scrambler can still be OUR thing, even if the girls take their friends along for the ride. Maybe there will be a few more fun fairs for this dad and his girls. And, maybe, I can try on being a tween for a while, just to see how it feels.

Pete Wilgoren is outnumbered by a wife, two little girls, and a dog named Cupcake. Guess who named the dog? Find him on Facebook at Dadmissions – The Book.