You know the ones. They have been on cars for a while now. It always starts with a male stick figure, then a female, then a child, or two, or three, or four, or five, then sometimes the family pet. I vowed never to get one. It was just too cutesy for me. It wasn’t that I wanted to be anonymous–I was happy to post a sticker of a female figure spiking a volleyball, or one of Santa Barbara High School, or even one of the school where I work. But those cutesy family stickers? Not for me.

But when your eleven-year-old daughter surprises you with one at Christmas, you put it on your car. The “Dad” has bacon on his fork, I have a volleyball, my son a basketball, my daughter a volleyball, and of course the dog is represented. But before I had a chance to affix it to my car, we moved to another house and the sticker was misplaced (not on purpose). So for the next two years, every time my daughter would see one on another car she would ask if I had found it yet. I felt badly every time she asked. But not badly enough to reorder one.

Last week, it finally turned up. I promptly put it on the car, thinking she would be so happy. Wrong. It has been three years since she gave it to me, and to a 14-year-old it is extremely embarrassing. Her conversations now involve driving my car when she gets her permit (in less than a year), and the last thing she wants to be seen in is a vehicle with a family sticker. Now that I think about it, this worked out well for me, as I am in no hurry for her to drive! 

My 14 year old daughter granted me two hours of her time yesterday. The plan was to go down to the bike path that runs along the beach; she on the roller blades I bought in 1989 and I on a long board skateboard I bought at a garage sale 10 years ago. When I was her age my feet spent more time on my skateboard than they did on land, and I looked forward to the feeling I got when gliding down a smooth surface, the endless wave of sidewalk surfing.

As we drove to the beach she asked if we could go to her favorite deli afterward so she could get “that salad” she likes. A little romaine lettuce, a few croutons, a few strips of chicken, some parmesan for $8.95. How many times had I told her I could make the same salad for $1.35? I was already saving money by not renting a newer pair of roller blades, but I was determined not to spend unnecessarily. “No honey, not today. I will make something yummy when we get home”. Raised eyebrows was her response.

As Georgia pulled the blades out of their bag and onto her feet, she said, “Mom, why did you have to choose this color?” I am sure that any color I had chosen would have disgusted her, but I explained that neon was very stylish in the ’80’s.

We began rolling down the path, dodging tourists in their surreys and hotel issued matching bicycles, and immediately I was in heaven. I had my daughter all to myself, it was a beautiful Spring day (my favorite temperature, 73 degrees), and I was doing one of my all-time favorite activities.

As we neared the skate park, Georgia stopped.

“Mom, I cannot go past the skate park”.

“Why not?”, I asked.

“Someone might see me”, she  responded.

“What’s wrong with that?”, I asked, guessing it could be any of the obvious, all under the category of “Being seen by boys she knows or knows of”: a) She is hanging out with her mom, b) She is not the most graceful skater, c) She is on rollerblades from 1989, d) She is not with a gaggle of girlfriends.

The answer I received to my question was another pair of raised eyebrows, so we stopped. Somehow I was able to talk her into continuing (which told me she had no problem being seen but that she wanted to pretend she did not want to be seen).

The plan was to just keep on rolling by, and we would pass the skate park in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, just as we were in the middle of those seconds I felt a sharp pain at the bottom of my calf. It was my pushing foot, and I was forced to stop. Immediately. She was ahead of me and did not notice for a while, but when she did she was none too pleased to have to turn around and find out what happened to mom. She thought I was joking and was becoming more and more embarrassed with each passing second. I apologized and hobbled over to the grassy area, encouraging her to continue without me. Another raise of the eyebrows and she took my suggestion.

During the 10 minutes she was gone I worked on the muscle, trying desperately to make the pain go away by leaning against a palm tree and stretching it out. I felt awful about being the cause of her embarrassment. Obviously I wanted to appear as the cool mom on the skateboard, but it backfired when my 50 year old out of shape calf decided otherwise.

Upon her return, Georgia was not upset with me; in fact, she was very caring and helpful. She offered to push me back toward the car so it would be easier for me, even as we passed the skate park! I was so proud of her, and then proud of myself for raising such a great kid. My heart swelled with pride and I knew this was an experience I would long remember and one I hoped she would (in a positive way) as well. Then I took her to lunch for her favorite salad….