What goes on in their heads

I think most parents frequently wish they knew what was going on in the minds of their children. We think we have an idea. But then they’ll do something that makes no sense to us, but obviously makes perfect, instinctive sense to them, and we’re left scratching our heads wondering what’s going on. Spoiler alert: I’ve got no answers there; this is not that kind of a post.

My daughter introduced me to a musical group a while back. She’d heard about it from a friend, and got me to to start listening to them. I suspect she does this on purpose, knowing that if she can get me to buy something she’ll get to share it for free. She’s cunning enough to think of something like that. But I also know she likes connecting with people over stuff she likes. It’s why she’s constantly pressuring me to read books she likes.

Anyway, I’ve invested significantly in this group, and there’s a lot of their music I enjoy. But I’ve noticed that quite often the songs she likes are not the songs I like. She tends toward their more driving songs, while I usually like the gentler, more melodic pieces. She’s an action-hound. I get that. I probably was, too, at her age.

Over the weekend we were driving somewhere, and I’d brought my music along with me. I let her pick the songs while we drove. To my surprise she went straight to one of the calmest songs on the entire album. I’ve never cared for the song myself, and was even more surprised that she did. Just when I thought I had her figured out–or at least her musical tastes.

I knew better than to ask about it. She’s become a full-blown teenager in many ways, and one of those is to clam up if she senses (or imagines) the slightest hint of disapproval in a question. I couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question that wouldn’t trigger her spider sense. So I let it go. Besides, I know what it’s like to try to explain why I like a particular piece of music, literature, movie, etc. As often as not it’s not something intellectual, but visceral. Sure, I’ve learned to come up with numerous speculations as to why a particular work of art appeals to me, but usually I’m picking at the periphery, seldom getting to the heart of it. When it comes to emotional response, it’s like trying to describe the smell of blue.

Nevertheless, in one brief moment my daughter threw a wrench in the works. She threw out a data point that didn’t fit neatly within the distribution. I like to think I know my children, but I’m increasingly being forced to admit that I’m just making educated guesses.