Parenting, particularly when it comes to raising my daughters, has often made me feel like the leading authority. As a woman, I believed I possessed insights that my husband simply couldn’t grasp. After all, I understood the challenges of growing up as a girl—something he couldn’t relate to. I’m the one who remembers to pack extra snacks, keeps spare clothes in the car, and always has Band-Aids at the ready. I’ve always viewed myself as the responsible parent, while my husband takes on the role of the fun parent. The responsible one is typically the dominant figure, right?
Well, not anymore. A significant change has swept through our household, primarily driven by puberty. When my older daughter’s transition into her teenage years began to loom, I thought I’d navigate it with grace. I envisioned being the empathetic, wise mom who would easily connect with her emotional needs. I was convinced that my daughter would open up to me.
Oh, how naive I was!
Once she turned 13, my daughter seemed to don a permanent pair of headphones. Suddenly, my words fell on deaf ears, drowned out by a constant soundtrack of music. The iPod, earbuds, and other devices became her constant companions. I felt as if I had been “iHijacked.”
“What’s with this obsession?” I complained to my husband. “Doesn’t she ever tire of all that noise?”
My husband simply shrugged. “She’s a teenager now. Music becomes a huge part of life during this time. I remember having my radio on non-stop at that age.” He chuckled and added, “Unless I was busy making a mixtape.”
“Ugh! Mixtapes! That makes me feel ancient,” I groaned.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured me. “She’s just following in my footsteps.”
He had a point. His passion for music blossomed during his teenage years and continued through college. Unlike him, I’ve never been completely consumed by music. While I enjoyed it as a teenager—perhaps as a way to mute the chaos of my insecurities—I lost that fervor in my 20s. Now, in my cough 40s, I listen to music in the car or enjoy the CDs my husband lovingly creates for me. However, I don’t actively seek it out the way he does; he spends hours on iTunes hunting for new bands and sounds, while I’d rather do almost anything else.
And therein lies the lesson I learned from my husband about parenting. When my daughter slipped those headphones on, I lost the battle. My instinct was to demand that she remove them so we could talk, but my husband took a different approach. He encouraged her to keep the headphones on, allowing him to reach her in a way I couldn’t.
While I was fretting and fuming, my husband was listening—really listening. During her sleeping hours, he would sneak her phone, crafting playlists filled with songs he thought she’d appreciate. He started with a few carefully chosen tracks, saying, “Hey, check your phone. I added some songs I think you’ll dig, and maybe a couple that are a bit different. Let me know what you think.”
To my surprise, rather than reacting with annoyance, she responded positively. A small smile spread across her face as she listened. Somehow, he was connecting with her in the language she understood best: music.
Now, when my daughter needs someone to talk to, it’s often my husband she seeks out. He’s become the approachable parent, perhaps because they’ve built this bond without needing to speak directly.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy. After all, I had always considered myself the more dominant parent. But their connection through music is something special, and I must accept that it’s their shared experience. It serves as a reminder that while I once thought I had ownership of my daughter, she was never truly mine to keep. She is her own person, ready to navigate the world ahead with her headphones firmly in place.
Conclusion
In conclusion, embracing my husband’s approach to parenting has been an eye-opening experience. It’s taught me the importance of understanding and adapting to my daughter’s unique language, even if it means stepping back and letting someone else lead the way.
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