Red flags greet new teenager

So I officially became the father of a teenager this past week.

It happened quietly, at 8:06 a.m. Monday. I was getting ready for work, straining with all my strength, energy and effort just to put on a pair of socks, as usual. And it happened.

Tess turned 13.

Far less quiet was last weekend's celebratory party and sleepover with Tess and nine of her closest friends. The screaming still is ringing in my ears. The gummy bears still are stuck to the carpet in my super Hawkeye man cave. Can it really be a man cave with gummy bear carpet? I fear the answer.

Unfortunately, the leftover cake, ice cream and candy also remain. I see tough sock-pulling days ahead.

I might have let this milestone slip into history without media mention. But over the past few weeks, as I've dropped notice of my daughter's impending teendom into daily conversations, I have been jolted by many of the reactions.

Eyes widen. Heads shake. A deep, empathetic breath is inhaled, and then dramatically exhaled.

The messages are clear.

Woo boy. Get ready. Good luck! You're going to need it, you poor sap. Say goodbye to your delightful child.

These reactions transported me back to when my wife was pregnant with Tess, back when I used to say we're pregnant. Then, I was on hand for Tess' birth and the nearly 24 hours of labor that preceded it. Clearly, only one of us was pregnant.

During the anxious months leading up to her birth, dropping notice of our impending bundle of joy into daily conversations brought lots of curious reaction. Many, many folks took a remarkable amount of joy in scaring the formula out of us.

The message was clear.

Woo boy. Get ready. Good luck. You're going to need it, you poor saps. Say goodbye to your delightful, carefree life as you know it.

It turns out life as we know it got better. Tougher, more tiring, smellier, louder and more anxious, sure, but, surprisingly, better. We lived through teething and terrible twos and potty training and illnesses that go spew in the night. We figured stuff out. We, the totally screwed, luckless, no-life saps even had another child. Ella turns 10 this year.

So here we are, 13 years later, with Tess, a delightful, funny, smart, kind, friendly, thoughtful kid who is about to turn into an unruly, exasperated, embarrassed, eye-rolling, door-slamming, parent-shunning monster. (She actually developed eye-rolling and door-slamming very early. Gifted, I guess.) So life is about to get tougher, more tiring, smellier, louder and more anxious.

Better? That's a lot to ask for, and it's far too soon to know. I have no doubt there are kernels of wise and daunting wisdom in the dire pronouncements of wide-eyed deep-breathers. Trouble may indeed be ahead. Woo boy.

But what's new? Life changes. We'll figure it out. What choice do we have? We can't afford military school. NASA has yet to develop a teens in space program.

But how bad can it be? Don't answer.

'I've been 13 for two days,” Tess told us this past week. 'Calm down.”

Sure, we'll be shunned. But, hopefully, she'll remember what we've taught her. And that we love her. And that she doesn't know everything. If all goes well, she'll even get a little more freedom.

But not too much, because we have to make sure she gets through this in one piece. After all, someday, I'm going to need help with my socks.

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