The tiny injustices of parenthood are too many to count — wearing formula stains to work, refereeing tantrums in Walmart, fielding the you’re-to-stupid-to-breathe-my-air eye rolls and having to eat the gummed, lint-covered vanilla wafer in the middle of church service before your kid can stick it in the hair of the woman sitting in front of her, who just happened to be the pastor’s wife.
Oh, that last one was just me?
But we’ve all been there. After 15 years and 353 days as a parent, I thought I was fairly experienced.
I’d grown cocky, even.
I wasn’t prepared for the biggest injustice to date — handing over the keys to the car.
I thought I was. Really I did.
I was fine when I was teaching Shannon to drive. Well, besides some persistent nausea, the twitch in my brake-stomping foot and those nightmares.
But mostly fine.
Then we started car shopping.
Still fine because this was shopping — an area I knew.
Shannon hadn’t let me shop with her since she turned 12 and decided my familiarity with knits made me an inappropriate fashion consultant so, in a way, it was kind of fun except for those car guys who kept trying to sell us cars.
The problem came when we actually bought a car in preparation for the big day when she could drive it.
We bought a used car and I kept picturing the transmission dropping out in the middle of the road somewhere.
My stomach churned.
Shannon’s face glowed.
First she named it. Gumby, because it was green.
Then, she personalized it. A birthday gift of an Ed Hardy cover means my cute little daughter is driving with skulls on her steering wheel, plus she added a bandana and beads to the rearview mirror.
She refused to put the large, permanent Student Driver sign on the back like I wanted to.
Finally, she put the key on her key chain.
“Look, I have car keys!” Shannon said.
I felt sick.
Somehow, while car shopping, I had pictured me riding along beside her through our golden years, me riding shotgun when she drove to school, to prom, to football games, to college, to her wedding.
Suddenly it became clear she intended to drive this thing with no one else in it.
I wish someone had warned me.
On Thursday, Shannon turned 16.
Y’all know I’m not old enough, right?
I’m just not sure how this happened.
I would gladly eat a soggy Nilla wafer right now for just a glimpse of Shannon still in her crib, blonde hair curled around her face, bottom in the air as she slept.
Or to be able to creep into the middle school to sneak a peek of the boy who first asked her to a dance.
Instead, on Thursday afternoon, I told my baby goodbye and sent her into the cruel world behind the wheel of a potential weapon of mass destruction.
I have two things to say: Firstly, everyone stay off the roads.
Secondly, call me if you see a petite blonde girl driving a green Honda CRV with skulls on the steering wheel even two miles over the speed limit, kay?
I’m counting on your help.
Maybe that and the Death by Chocolate ice cream left over from her party will get me through the week.
By the way, do y’all think this nausea thing’s permanent?
Kelly Kazek
Injustices of parenthood mount up
- Kelly Kazek
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Each generation contends with struggles
This generation of young people thinks art appreciation is LOLing at Google Doodles. They don’t know dictionaries and encyclopedias were items you used to have to actually hold on your laptop, and they could be really heavy.
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Whoever said it, it's still true
It’s a great feeling to have a daughter who holds a job, keeps her grades up, manages her own money and still takes time for fun with friends in a healthy balance. After she sat on the sofa during high school and watched two seasons of “The Jersey Shore,” I wasn’t so sure.
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Biography of Kelly Kazek
Kelly Kazek was born in Warner Robins, Ga., in whichever year adds up to her being 35.
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I was proud to be part of it
I am proud to serve on the committee that is helping make the memorial a reality and I wanted to thank everyone who was instrumental in the plan.
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In Athens, Ala., grease is the word ...
I think the festival is a great idea. On that day, we can unabashedly show our love for all things Southern, as well as all things Greek. That means we can eat fried macaroni-and-cheese bites while wearing togas, which, if twisted just right, can be very slimming. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.
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Most of us have no choice about work
I think our system has devolved to the point that all politicians, and by extension their families, are so wealthy they can’t truly have an understanding of the lives of ordinary people.
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I won! I won! I won! I won!
I made a decision a long time ago that I do not wish to win mega-millions. Nope, I’ll earn mine the old fashioned way: One sweat-stained penny at a time. I should reach a million by the time I’m, say, 142.
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If you’re stupid and you know it, clap your hands
And as the saying goes, “Ignorance of your own stupidity is probably a good thing,” or something like that.
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Imagine bringing own toilet paper to work
Humor writers rarely have the occasion to hear four sweeter words than “great toilet paper debacle,” but in the case of Trenton, N.J., a recent incident is more of a cause for sadness and reflection than ridicule and laughter.
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Machines don't understand Southern accents
... they are either not programmed to understand the subtleties of the Southern accent, or they’re programmed to drive us to therapy.
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