BUCKING THE SYSTEM: NEW TEEN-AGER WILL EVENTUALLY REMEMBER PARENTS

A friend of mine told me this week she's losing a daughter ... and gaining a teen-ager.

I'm withholding their names to protect the innocent, but all you really need to know is this: The daughter in question, at the tender young age of 12, has joined the ranks of pubescence, and Momma -- sorry, it's Mom now -- is not at all sure how she should be handling it.

It wasn't too long ago that mother and daughter shared everything. They didn't hide behind closed doors or magazines, and cheerful conversations about anything and everything were the norm.

Well, that's all changed. The daughter has started taking long, hot baths (a sure sign of puberty) and closing the door to her room. She's quiet now, much too quiet sometimes, and Mom is starting to get on her nerves with all the questions.

"Are you all right in there?"

"Yes."

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Are you SURE you're OK?"

"You worry too much."

Even I a favorite pretend aunt, by all accounts have become an annoying distraction to the darling girl's way of thinking. I could tell during a recent visit, when, instead of the normal smile and hug I usually receive, my play-niece said "Hi" without even looking up from the stack of magazines she was flipping through.

At first I was a little offended, but then I remembered my own pubescence, a time I lovingly refer to as my Blue Funk years.

I remember keeping to myself as much as possible and looking down my nose at everything that came around me. "Mama" and "Daddy" became "Mother" and "Father" -- that is, when I was speaking to them -- and I was a very unforgiving sort of person.

I clearly remember the day Mother had had enough of my ugly ways. I was 15, and I don't think I'd spoken to my mom for about three days.

"You used to talk all the time when we'd make this trip," she told me during a trip to Memphis that seemed much longer than three hours because of the deafening quiet in the car. "We'd talk about everything. I don't know who you are these days."

I think buried my nose in the romance novel I was reading and tried to ignore her, but the message definitely got through. The problem was, I was so busy wading through that blue funk I was in that I couldn't find my way back to the surface.

Instead, I just sat there looking for the right words. Finding none, I decided to do nothing, and my relationship with my mom was strained for several years before I remembered how much fun she (and other real, live people) were to be around.

Considering all of that, I felt better about the incident with my play-niece. At least this child actually hung around and didn't jump up and stomp from the room like I used to do. She also held a civil conversation with me without sneering her answers, and every once in a while a smile even broke through.

As long as the conversations continue, I don't think my friend has cause for too much concern. I told her I'd keep knocking on the closed doors as much as possible, because even if her daughter's answers are monotone, single-word sentences, at least they're audible.

Besides, the daughter knew before her pituitary gland went berserk that they had a good relationship, and eventually, she'll remember it again.

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.