I’m smiling to myself as I drive, humming along to the radio as my daughters are proudly singing from the back seat. We usually listen to country music or occasionally pop music. We have a greatest showman CD in the disc player but we finally grew tired of it. Music in the car helps us unwind and forget about the isolation. We are returning from town after running errands. Our face masks are sitting in the seat next to me and I take a deep breath. This pandemic has taken a lot away from us but at least we’re still smiling.
We’re taking the long, rural road through the blueberry fields in our small town when the song ends. A commercial starts playing. I only half-listen to it and it’s a suicide prevention add. I grip the steering wheel for only a minute then slowly edge my hand closer to the button on my dashboard to change the station. I already know it’s coming…the questions…the difficult questions.
Then I hear it.
A quiet voice from the back of the car, still a little unsure with herself. “Mom, what’s suicide?”
I sigh and prepare myself for another one of our car conversations.
I’m honestly not sure when these car conversations of ours started happening. I do know they started happening during the pandemic after two months of total isolation. My daughters for whatever reason, feel the most comfortable asking me personal questions while sitting in the backseat. There is something about the lull of the car ride, or the music playing that entices them to open up to me in a way they never have.
My daughters are currently eight and eleven. My oldest is edging her way into puberty. She’s growing up and changing so quickly that I often times feel as if I’m racing to catch up. These car conversations have become an integral part of our relationship because while I’m driving, it’s as if time stands still. They can ask me all their difficult and deep questions without fear, judgement or embarrassment.
We’ve grown closer since the pandemic. Without friends to play with, school to attend and activities to join, it’s just us. These car rides are an outlet we never thought we’d need. I cringe sometimes over the questions they ask because every part of me wants to shield them. I wish we lived in a world where suicide, racism and bullying didn’t exist. I wish they would stop growing so I don’t have to deal with conversations revolving around changing bodies.
But, that isn’t reality! I can’t shut down these car conversations for my own comfort. My daughters are little humans, learning about their world and they are relying on me to ease that passage into adulthood. I’ve done a lot of soul searching these last few months, I’ve answered a lot of difficult questions in the most age appropriate way I can.
It brings me back to my childhood. My mom and I weathered the early puberty years in a slightly different way. When I was having a tough week, which unfortunately was often, she’d pick me up from school and we’d go to the mall. We didn’t have a lot of money but she always bought me a shirt or a necklace from Claire’s. We walked the mall, smiled and laughed. I didn’t open up to her often but I knew she was there for me. Just the presence of being in the car with her, knowing that she was in my corner and that I could ask her anything, eased the turmoil of whatever crisis I was experiencing.
I’m trying to raise my girls to be bolder with their questions. I want them to come to me without fear and say whatever is on their minds. I want them to learn to be body positive and to know that as young women, they have a voice and it needs to be used bravely and fearlessly. I don’t want them to be embarrassed over their changing bodies or afraid to ask questions.
Recently, my oldest daughter needed a new pair of soccer cleats as our team opened up a socially distanced training session. She was beaming with excitement and then she off-handedly asked me a series of questions that needed a bit more than my quick, one word answers. I could tell she was slightly embarrassed so we took a long drive to buy those soccer cleats.
As we approached the blueberry fields, I asked her if she has anything she wants to talk about.
“No, Mom.” She tells me. “Could you put some country music on?”
Half-way through the second verse of the song, I hear her sigh and then she opens up. I turn the music down and listen to her as she asks her questions. By the time we reach the store, we’ve discussed a lot of important issues revolving around young girls. She seems relaxed and her earlier embarrassment has slipped away.
I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of our relationship. I sometimes feel as if I can do this parenting thing.
As a mom of two growing daughters, I have so many doubts in my parenting abilities. I sometimes let it eat away at me until I’m worn down and hollow. I have spent many nights praying for wisdom and sanity. Every hurt they experience becomes my hurt. The pandemic doesn’t help any of these things either, it makes me more aware of them.
Then we take a drive…the car conversations start and I realize that in that moment, I’m doing the right thing.
I’ll hold onto these conversations for however long I can.
