Smells like teen angst

Dodged a major bullet last week.

Santa Monica Catholic High School (I feel a slight hypocritical atheist twinge every time I write those words) where my faithless daughters go to school, is getting ready for this year's Junior Prom.

And if you hadn't already guessed it's quite the big deal.

Not the same kind of big deal it was when we attended high school back in the 20th century. But nevertheless, important. You see, today's kids are much more nonchalant about pivotal, or even seemingly pivotal, high school moments.

When I asked my daughter if some boy, or girl, that's perfectly acceptable too, had asked her to the prom she shook her head no. She appeared more upset when the folks at Chipotle ran out of guacamole.

My daughter is a pretty cool cucumber and handles stress much better than I ever did. Her grace no doubt comes from my wife's side of the family. Nevertheless I couldn't help imagining her at home on the night of the prom, alone, crying, pitching a fit and punching holes in the drywall.

But, as I alluded to earlier, none of that is going to happen.

Three days ago, a very nice boy -- according to the gabby moms we ran into at a school play -- had asked Rachel to the prom. And he did it with a small bouquet of flowers, no less. While my daughter was pleasantly surprised, it's safe to say my wife and I were exponentially more exuberant about what had just transpired.

Many deep breaths and cocktails were had that night.

I suspect this is why parents say raising teenagers is so difficult. It's not about their raging hormones. Or their stupid decisions. Or even their inherent sloppiness and irresponsibility.

It's all about their angst.
And how it becomes your angst.
I'm here to tell you, it's not any better the second time.