Conversations with my teenage daughter, a 14-year-old post-millennial, often start with me knocking on her bedroom door. It usually doesn’t get better from there. Until it does.

Knock, knock

Me: Hey there.

Her: What.

Me: Can I come in?

Her: Do you need to?

Me: Yes.

Her: Want to take a minute and think about it first?

And that’s how many conversations with my teenage daughter end … without resolution.

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Knock, knock

Her: (No answer.)

Me: I’m coming in, OK?

Her: I’d rather you didn’t.

Me: I don’t want to talk to you through a door.

Her: Really? Because I find it comforting.

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Knock, knock

(Opening my door and sticking my head in.)

Me: Hey. I need you to pick up your room, please.

Her: Why?

Me: Because it smells weird and we have company coming over later.

Her: Company won’t be coming in my room, will they?

Me: Please just clean up in here.

Her (looking around room): I’m pretty sure it looks fine. Plus, it’s my room. Don’t I get to decide how it should look?

Me: Not when there’s an odor involved.

Her (getting up from bed with a tremendous sigh): You know, this is SO typical. We were talking about it in Government Studies. YOUR generation makes a mess and MY generation has to clean it up.

Me: That’s a really good point. But my generation didn’t leave an old banana under your desk for three days.

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Knock, knock

Me: Hey. What’re you up to?

Her: What? Why? Am I in trouble? What did I do now?

Me: You’re not in trouble. I just wanted to see what was happening up here.

Her: I’m actually really busy right now.

Me: You’re lying in bed looking at your laptop.

Her: It just so happens I’m having a really important conversation online. Could you close the door?

Me: In a minute. What’s the really important conversation you’re having?

Her (eye roll): Do you really need to know? I mean, is this information that you need to have in your day?

Me: If you’re talking to a 50-year-old man who’s pretending to be a 14-year-old gamer named Kylie, then yes. Yes, that is information I need to know.

Her: Oh my GOD. Be more paranoid.

Me: So who are you messaging with?

Her: Hannah.

Me: Oh. Hannah from school?

Her: YES, DUH.

Me: How is she?

Her: She’s great, except for the fact that her parents always barge into her room and invade her privacy.

Me: I see. Then I guess you guys have a lot to talk about.

Her: We do. Could you close the door please?

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Knock, knock

Me: Hey. What’re you doing?

Her (focused on her laptop screen): Playing Undertale.

Me: No playing video games until after you do your math homework.

Her: Brad says he prefers us to do our homework in class.

Me: Who’s Brad?

Her: My algebra teacher.

Me: He lets you call him Brad?

Her: Yeah. He’s cool. He totally gets the fact that learning is a collaborative process and it’s better if everyone is on a first name basis.

Me: Oh. Well. That is cool. And you’re saying he never gives you actual homework?

Her: He says that if we do math at home, we may not use the right methods that we do in class.

Me: You know, I can probably help you with it if you want. I was pretty good at algebra.

Her: Brad says parents aren’t able to understand the kind of algebra we do.

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Knock, knock

Me: Hey, there.

Her: Hey.

Me: I’m just checking in about your science project.

Her: What about it?

Me: Did you do it yet?

Her: Oh. Yeah. Mostly yeah.

Me: What do you mean “mostly”?

Her: It’s almost completely done.

Me: Great. That’s great to hear. How much is left to do?

Her: What do you mean?

Me: I mean, if we turn your science homework into a pie chart and we divide it up into the portion that’s done, and the portion that’s not done, what would it look like?

Her: You know, Dad, sarcasm isn’t productive.

Me: (Long pause.) Fine. Good point. So, how much of your science project have you done so far? Just walk me through the progress you’ve made.

Her: Welllllllll … I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I chose a topic.

Me: Great. That’s a great way to start. What’s your topic?

Her: Something about the Laws of Motion.

Me: O … K. So, what else have you done?

Her: I picked out the color of my poster board.

Me: And?

Her: And that’s it.

Me: That’s it? Isn’t it due in two days?

Her: You can’t rush scientific discovery, Dad.

Me: You’re right. You can’t. You also can’t let distractions interfere with genius.

Her: Hey, what’re you doing?

Me: Nothing.

Her: What are you doing? That’s my phone.

Me: Don’t mind me. I’m just taking your computer and your phone and your iPad downstairs for a while.

Her: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Me: See you in a couple hours.

Her: OHMYGAWDTHATISSOUNFAIR. I was just about to get back to work on my project!

Me: Totally unfair. Bye now.

Her: DAD! Why do you have to be so MEAN!!

Me: I know. You’re right. I’m awful. I’m Darth Vader. See you in a couple hours.

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Knock, knock

Her: Come in.

Me: Is that a joke?

Her: No. You can come in.

Me (inching into the room slowly): You … you didn’t install a trapdoor or anything in here, did you?

Her: No.

Me: OK. Just checking. (Sitting down next to her on her bed.) You sound sorta down.

Her: I am, I guess.

Me: What’s going on?

Her: Nothing, I guess. I mean, nothing major. I was just texting with Hannah.

Me: How’s she doing?

Her: Not great. Her parents are separating.

Me: Oh. That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.

Her: Yeah. I mean, it’s OK. She basically knew it was going to happen, but they just made the decision today.

Me: Does she sound OK?

Her: I think so. I mean, I’m sure she’s not, but you know.

Me: I know. It’s not easy.

Her: I hate it when my friends go through hard stuff.

Me: I know.

(We silently sit for a while.)

Her: I’m sorry I can be cranky sometimes.

Me: It’s OK. We all get cranky.

Her: I don’t know if it’s hormones or just my personality.

Me: I vote hormones.

Her: Yeah.

Me: Trust me. You’re fine.

Her: OK.

(Pause.)

Her: Can we watch a movie tonight after dinner?

Me: Sure. Maybe we could watch Finding Nemo again.

Her: Yeah.

Me: You want some time to yourself before then?

Her: Yeah.

Me: OK. Come on down when you’re ready.

Her: I will.

Me: You’re my favorite human.

Her: You’re my favorite human, too. Love you.

Me (closing her door behind me, heart quietly melting): Love you, too.

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Photo for Conversations with My Teenage Daughter, the Post-Millennial: Kevin McKeever