THE SONIC BOOMER
My granddaughter Tess is a challenge. She’s 12 now, so she’s even more of a challenge than she was as a tot. I’m not saying this is a bad thing. “Challenging” people often grow up to be quite successful, rising to heights no one ever expected. But those of us around them — those of us who see how they behave and what they value and what they don’t — well, it often leaves us scratching our heads.
Tess has been described by her teachers as “unapologetically Tess.” I think this is the kindest possible way to describe her. She is what she is. It’s the “unapologetically” word that gives me pause.
I’ve seen Tess apologize. She’ll say she’s sorry for being late, for accidentally damaging people’s possessions, for taking two pieces of candy instead of one. She looks and sounds sincere when she does this — but is she?
Before she was born, I lobbied hard for Tess to be named after me. There just aren’t enough Deborahs in the world, and it’s such a good name. I can be Deborah, Debbie or Deb, as the mood strikes. I named my daughter Jennifer for the same reason — Jennifer, Jenny, Jen… all good.
But when I saw how much Tess resembled her other grandmother, I could see why she just couldn’t have my name. But I watched for other signs of my DNA within her. There weren’t many. She and I are both fairly creative, but that’s about it. She loves fashion. Not me. She makes friends easily. Not me. She keeps up with trends. I’m still saying “6-7.” We are simply not alike.
There was hope last week when Tess created something she called a Social Battery for her doorknob. If the little arrow points to green, you may enter. She’s feeling social. If it points to yellow, you may be able to enter, but knock and announce your presence before proceeding. If it points to red, Tess wants to be alone with her tablet, and you’d better keep walking. I told her to make a dozen of these and give them out as Christmas gifts.
But I was surprised when my daughter Jennifer called yesterday to say that Tess had been working on “her percentages.” This was something new.
“What percentages?” I asked.
“Her personal percentages,” Jen said.
(I could have written Jenny, but this was more of a Jen conversation, see?)
“Tess feels that she is made up of 20 percent me, 20 percent her father, 5 percent Bowser…”
“The dog?”
“5 percent Ninja…”
“The previous dog?”
“15 percent her best friend, 10 percent her brother and 25 percent you.”
“She feels she is more like me than anyone else?”
“Yes. Consider it a compliment.”
So, I’m trying to figure out if I am habitually late, “accidentally” ruin other people’s things and take more than my share of proffered candy. Hmm. If I did any of these things to you, I apologize. Sort of. In the meantime, I will be sitting behind my door with my Social Battery stuck on red.
