I’m Raising a Monster, or, Why My Kid Rocks

Every morning, I take my daughter, just turned 7, to school.  We pull up to the door, she gives me a kiss and hops out, then blows me another kiss and goes inside, usually with an “I love you, dad!”

This morning was different.

As she was getting out of the car, she was acting as if she wasn’t going to give me a kiss goodbye.  I said, in my “Daddy is pretending to be sad” voice, “Don’t I get a kiss?” She rolled her eyes and said, in the most “aggrieved teenager” voice ever, “I’m not going to leave without giving you a kiss, dad.”  I repeat, she is seven.

As she got out of the car,  I said “I love you, sweetie,” and she ROLLED HER EYES AT ME.  AGAIN.

She immediately opened the door and gave me the most incredible “gotcha” grin ever.

Little punk.

Man, I love that kid.

Published by Michael R. Johnston

Father of a fifth grader, high school English teacher, writer. Forty-six years old and feeling almost every bit of it on some days, and not a bit of it on others. Based in Sacramento, California, USA

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