The Maddening Mantra of a 15-Year-Old: ‘<i> All</i> My Friends ...’

Editor’s note: Tony Kornheiser is on vacation. This column first ran in July 1998.

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My birthday was the other day, and my sweet baboo, Elizabeth, who is at summer camp, sent me a card. Here is what my loving, sentimental daughter wrote:

“Happy B-day! Kate said her parents are sending $200 extra for her to use at the mall. Getting any ideas? No, but really $100 isn’t enough for our trip to the mall. I would really appreciate it if you could send up more money. P.S.: Please show this letter to Mom.”

Parents of 15-year-old girls will recognize the basic structure: There is an introductory thought about you. Now, here is the urgency of my need. And make sure you show it to Mom, who is a complete sucker.

I did what any parent would do upon receipt of such a letter. I laughed.

There’s no way Kate’s parents are sending her $200 to go to some mall in West Virginia, I said. You can buy the entire state for $135. Half the homes there are on wheels!

So I called Kate’s parents.

Elizabeth says you’re sending Kate $200 for a trip to the mall? I asked.

No, we sent $20, they said.

Again, parents of 15-year-olds will recognize the pattern.

Write 200. If you’re confronted with 20, say something like: Oops, my pen slipped.

Time and again my daughter and I butt heads about money, curfew and what types of movies she is allowed to see. Her position is, “Come on, I’m 15.” My position is, “Come on, you’re 15.”

Recognize this conversation?

My friends are going to the movies tonight, and I’d like to go, too.

What will you be seeing?

Um, I don’t know, something educational.

Oh? Recommended by Dr. Stephen Hawking, I’m sure. Can you tell me the name of it?

“I’m Going to Slash Your Throat and Mutilate Your Mama.” But it’s not nearly as bad as it sounds, she’ll say, perkily. One of the girls from “Friends” is in it.

Great. And what might it be rated?

Um, PG?

Come on, honey, it’s a slasher movie. It’s a hard R. They won’t even sell you a ticket.

Carla’s mother is buying the tickets.

Carla’s mother thinks it’s OK for kids to see this crap? What’s Carla’s number? I’m going to call her mother right now.

Suddenly there is a gasp from my daughter. Followed by tears.

You do this all the time, Dad. You are the strictest parent in the whole world. You treat me like I’m still 14!

So, of course, I let her go to the movie--provided she calls me as soon as it’s over, which I tell her will be 9 p.m.

See if you recognize this one:

Hi, Dad, it’s Liz.

Where have you been? I told you to call at 9, I’ll say.

No, you told me to call at 10.

Well, it’s 11:15.

It is?

Sweetheart, I’ll say. You have a watch on, don’t you?

Yes.

Well, what time is it on your watch?

Um, my watch is broken. (A variation of “Oops, my pen slipped.”)

The new battleground is her ears.

She wants an earring hole in her upper ear cartilage. All her friends have them.

She has changed her tactic on this subject lately. She gives me a hug and tells me how much she loves me. She actually purrs. I can only assume she saw this behavior in a Cameron Diaz movie.

You’re too young, I say. Wait until you get to college.

The truth is, I don’t care about a second earring. I’m trying to draw the line at her ears so I don’t have to hear about tongue studs and bellybutton rings. So my standard answer to everything she asks for is, “Wait until you get to college.”

On her first trip home she’ll probably have a huge tattoo across her stomach that reads: “You Happy? I Waited Until College.”