My supermodel-tall 10-year-old niece (she didn’t get that trait from our side of the family, that’s for sure) thinks my at-home antics are funny. I like to make her laugh. And it’s easy to make a 10-year-old laugh.
Robin’s * school is in walking distance of where we live, and sometimes I pick her up. I work from home, and walking to her school is a nice afternoon break. (I’m still getting used to this warm California weather; it’s almost February but spring’s in the air). Strangely enough, those same antics don’t make her laugh when performed within earshot of her friends.
“Aunt Shawn, you’re embarrassing me,” she said.
“Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised. What’s the big deal? I was doing and saying the same things that crack her up at home. Then it hit me: She’s entered the tween, peer-pressure, trying-to-look-cool phase. No kisses. No hugs. No cringe-worthy adult stuff.
As I’ve never raised a child, I am not familiar with this new stage of development from an adult’s perspective, although I can’t plead complete ignorance. My father used to enjoy embarrassing me, my sisters, and brother in public, especially in malls. Talk about uncool. I thought I’d die – die – from shame.
“People are looking at you,” I whined. “Pleeeaaassse stop doing that!” My mother was absolutely no help. She was used to it; didn’t bother her at all. Fond memories, childhood. Oh, ancient of days!
So I can empathize with Robin. Not a teen and not a “little kid,” she’s also going through an I-hate-boys-but-only-when–you’re-around phase (exacerbated by the fact that she’s the only girl among my sibling’s kids – her cousins are all boys). For example, whenever I mention her autographed picture of actor Taylor Lautner (her friend attends his church and asked Taylor to sign a photo of himself for my niece for her birthday), she frowns like she’s smelling something bad. “Gross!” she whines.
But her friend’s mother tells a different story. Robin was very excited to get that photo, we were told. Acknowledging that fact to her mother and aunt, however, would be the height of shame.
Being a quasi-mom to my niece is challenging, sometimes confusing, usually fun, and always enlightening. I sing Disney show theme songs in my sleep (Ahhhhhh!), I’m aware that Taylor gained over 20 pounds to keep his role as Jacob Black in blockbuster “Twilight,” and I know more than I need to know about DS games popular among middle-schoolers.
I’m learning how to be more patient and flexible, and most of all, more loving. I’ll always cherish these years. Thanks, Rob. 
*Not her real name. Totally phony for her protection. Besides, she'd be so embarrassed by this post.
