Scott Hollifield: Twelve years later, refrain has changed

By: Scott Hollifield | Hickory Daily Record
Published: April 01, 2010

Twelve years ago, when most of my parenting skills were based on what I learned from massive consumption of TV sitcoms, I wrote this:

"Watching countless hours of 'My Three Sons' never prepared me for trying to communicate with a daughter just a few months shy of two years old.

She has one answer for everything - 'No.'

Sometimes she elaborates - 'No way.'

'Uh-oh, did you mess your diaper?'

'No.'

'I think you did.'

'No.'

'I know you did because that's certainly not the aroma of Uncle Charlie's meatloaf filling the air.'

'No way.'"

Twelve years later, my parenting skills have developed through on-the-job training, the air has grown considerably fresher and the child's vocabulary has expanded immensely. But a new oft-used phrase has replaced what was "no" and "no way."

It's delivered with a look of shock and disbelief in a tone that falls just below the frequency of a dog whistle.

"That's not fair!"

I've learned that 13-year-old girls are deeply concerned with what is universally equitable, and they have appointed themselves sole arbiters of such.

For instance, it's not fair when she can't listen to the music she prefers while we are riding in the truck. Here is my semi-accurate recreation of a conversation during a recent family outing.

Princess of Fairness: "Can we listen to my music now?"

Me: "Nope."

Princess of Fairness: "That's not fair! We've listened to your music the entire time. Mom, can we listen to my music now?"

Wife: "Leave me out of this."

Princess of Fairness: "That's not fair!"

Me: "Every other song on that station you like talks about what people are doing 'at the club.' 'Going to the club.' 'Saw you at the club.' 'Dancing at the club.' 'Gonna hit you with a club.' The music I like has a much more positive message for young people, like 'don't ever shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die or you will spend the rest of your life in Folsom prison listening to trains go by and crying about it.'

Princess of Fairness: "That's not fair."

Me: "Tell it to the Court of Appeals."

Princess of Fairness: "Not the prison sentence. The music. It's not fair that we have to listen to your music the whole way."

At this point, I explained in great detail the parent-child dynamic, pontificated on the concept of fairness, listed the exact number of hours I have to work each month to make the payment on the truck in which the radio resides and closed with "and if I hear one more word about it I will take the next exit, prowl the dusty back roads until I find a 1979 Subaru BRAT with jump seats welded into the outside cargo area, trade this truck for it and then you can sit in the back and listen to the wind whistle and contemplate cosmic justice."

In reality, she's right.

It's not fair. Very few things are when you are 13 years old, not the child you were or the adult you will be, still interested in dollhouses yet intrigued by what the people in the songs are doing "at the club."

I try to remember that and react accordingly. And I try to remember and cherish all that happened in the 12 years between "no" and "no way" and "that's not fair." Twelve years from now it will be different. And, like the last 12 years, they will all have gone by fast.

Too fast.

And you know what?

That's not fair.