Age of the Kid

When we were in Malaysia last year, at the KL Tower ticket counter, I was asked my daughter’s age. To decide whether she was entitled to the kid’s pricing or not. I replied, “12”. My daughter, who was standing next to me, was furious. “I am 13”, she said, “How can you not remember my age?” I get it – it’s not just the mathematical difference between 12 and 13. Rather, it is the difference between being a member of the Exalted Club of Teenagers and being in the World of Lowly Children.

 

I could remember her age and class when she was younger. Now I struggle and frankly consider these things Details of No Consequence. 12, then 13, now 14. Her age keeps changing. So does her class. It is hard to keep up.

 

I also suspect that as an adult, it is very confusing to have this individual who behaves like a kid but thinks she is an adult who knows everything and can do everything. Behaves like she is 6, thinks she is 25. Why blame me for not knowing her age?

 

Of course, I am the norm on this count. Fathers rarely remember such details. As this standup comedian said, the father can keep track of all kinds of political events even in places like Uganda but will look at his own kid and ask, “You’re in seventh? Really?”

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