When I dropped my fourteen year old daughter off on her first day of high school last August, any semblance of poise I had when I woke up evaporated when she closed the car door.

Certain she'd come home intimidated and her spirit broken, I cried on the way to work, cried at my desk, and blubbered like an idiot after she called to tell me her day was "cool". Not "ok", not "great", not even "I'm never going back those people are horrible mean cruel vicious hateful-monster-ogre-beasts." Subconsciously, I guess those were the beings I thought were today's teenagers. No, for my little girl, high school and the great teen society was just "cool".

The past six months have taught my daughter new Algebra formulas, names and locations of African countries, Greek and Latin word roots and countless other lessons. The past six months have taught me that even if my teenager is sitting on the bench for JV softball, I'll do everything in my power not to miss a game because I'm cheering for her and what "could be" for each girl next year. It has taught me that my teenager and the hundreds of others in her school are caring, thoughtful, ambitious and generous young adults that we must encourage, nurture and cherish. I understand now that because our teenagers still look like children, it doesn't mean they don't have fresh, mature ideas on how to make our world better. Even though our teenagers sometimes speak in what we adults sometimes consider incoherent, juvenile twaddle ("and she was like...and then I was alland then he goesand then I goand then we were all like, whatever"), these are the young men and women that will teach in our schools, make our laws and form our government. They'll research and find cures for the most atrocious diseases and defend our country.

For now, the hormonal mass of teen-dom that watches "Monk" as often as she watches The Disney Channel is providing me more amusement than I thought possible. How can I not appreciate the talent she shows for multi-tasking when she's texting on her cell phone, making fun of her little sister, and using the mixer for a school baking project, all at the same time?

She's the root of much of my worry and frustration, and the source of endless joy and love. She knows the first very well, but perhaps not the latter. Maybe we'll go for ice cream tonight and I'll tell her. But first she has to finish cleaning her room.

Learn more about this author, Julie Sewell-Schmidt.
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