Shannon Hayes, 40, doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.

I’m going through a box of newspaper clippings when I find this.  It’s the opening line to a story about the health benefits of simple living in the Nov 5, 2014 edition of US News & World Report. 

I’m wondering if they fact-checked that statement.  

All they had to do was call my mother.  

I didn’t notice the statement when it was written back in 2014.  But this morning as I sort through these papers, it makes me pause and think about this line from my parents’ view.  

I never did do anything I didn’t want to do.

It wouldn’t have taken Mom and Dad long to give the reporter a stack of supporting evidence about my obstinance.  They have stories about my refusal to participate in nursery school; refusal to participate in my kindergarten class; hiding invitations to birthday parties I didn’t want to attend; walking out on final exams and law school entrance exams when the weather was too nice; walking away from college scholarships when I didn’t enjoy the class discussions; refusing to go to a hospital to have a baby; refusal to get a job.

But this morning, as I stare at the paper, reality hits me like a lead weight.

It doesn’t skip a generation.

There are moments when I just don’t know what to do about Saoirse.  She’s fifteen now,  and if she’s displeased with something I’ve done (which is occurring with increasing frequency), she stands with her arms crossed and refuses to talk or help.   If she isn’t retreating in disgust at all of us, she’s singing and dancing to show tunes around the kitchen, to hell with me if I can’t stand listening to the soundtrack of Hamilton for the 233rd time.   And then, if she isn’t singing and dancing to show tunes, she’s issuing orders:  Orders about where to put things, orders about how to clean out the coffee grinder properly, orders about the order of doing things.  When we senior members of the family ignore her, she directs the orders at her little sister:  She orders her about proper nutrition, orders her about cleaning up after herself and then, her biggest complaint:  she orders her to chew with her mouth closed and stop making so many disgusting mouth sounds when she eats.

Ula’s twelve.  She’s had a solid ten years of Bob’s and my table-side instructions to chew with her mouth closed.  But we notice the rude table habits always seem to re-emerge with Saoirse’s bossier moods.  Like her sister, like her mother, Ula doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do, either.  And appeasing her sister’s insistence upon silent mastication doesn’t hold much appeal.

It was a tricky line for Bob and me to walk, parenting little kids with strict boundaries while living as adults who enjoy complete self-determination.  Still, it was doable.  But now the girls are older and smarter.  They are fully aware we don’t do anything we don’t want to do.  And both of them are assuming the mantle. 

We ask for their help running the household and family business.  They offer it joyfully.  We invite them to the homeschool table.  And most days, they joyfully come as motivated and self-directed learners (there are times, however, when we endure non-compliance).  When it comes to extra-curricular projects, we say nothing.  They decide what they will take on and what they will not.  We’ve learned that it’s better (safer?) not to insist or dissuade.

Saoirse’s choice to take on the task of doing an eight minute video about water for a Museum on Main Street program was her own.  I thought she was taking on too much, but I knew it wasn’t my prerogative to dissuade her.  She attended some workshops about telling stories through video.  She spent the last six months collecting clips of flowing water, frozen water, ponds and lakes.  She scheduled interviews, made sure I was available to drive her, and even met with a technical expert online to learn about video editing.  

Then, two days before she left to be a CIT at wilderness camp, she got word that the video needed to be submitted while she was gone.  If she was going to meet the deadline, she had to finish the project within 48 hours.

“I’m not doing it,” she informs me when I pass along the email.

“But all those people helped you!”  I feel my temper flare.  “You owe it to them!”

She sits across from me at the kitchen table, staring me down over her mug of black coffee.  “I don’t want to.”

Saoirse Hayes Hooper, 15, doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.  

I stare back with equal ferocity.  And in our silence,  I recognize that assuming a life of self-determination isn’t merely a simple choice.  Looking back, I had to learn the difference between “I don’t want to do something” and “I’m afraid I can’t do something.”  The brain easily confuses the two. My kid is making that mistake right now at the kitchen table.  

“You just think you can’t.”

“No.  I don’t want to.”  My words.  My actions.  My history.  All smacking me in the face.

I want to draw a line in the sand and be coercive, for her own benefit.  I want to order her to finish this creative project.  For her own good.

But the creative free spirit in me knows how very wrong that would be.  

I don’t want to lay down a mandate about her commitments.  I want her to make a choice.

Bob and Ula stand and watch the showdown from the kitchen.  Silently, he slips a dish of soft boiled eggs in front of me for breakfast.  Ula comes to sit beside me, lending me silent emotional support for this showdown.

And then I remember.

Ula Hayes Hooper, 12, doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.

With my eyes still locked on Saoirse’s, I lift my coffee to my lips.

I slurp.  I take the longest, most drawn out slurp I’ve ever managed.

She doesn’t turn away.  

Then, with my fork, I smash my eggs, breaking them to bits as though they were mashed potatoes.  I open my mouth wide and put them in.

Then I leave my mouth open as I proceed to chew the food.  

She holds my gaze, but I see her wince slightly.

“Iih oukay.  You wiih.  You on’t haffa ooo it.”  I swallow.

Her voice is low.  Menacing.  “What. Did. You. Say?”

My mouth now empty, I repeat myself.  “It’s okay.  You win.  You don’t have to do it.”

“Stop talking with food in your mouth!”

“It’s my choice.  I can if I want to.”  She glares at me.  “And I can keep it up until you do the video.”

“I’m not doing the video.”

I slurp my coffee again.  “I never noticed how much more flavor there is when you drink coffee this way.  You should try it!”

Then I take another mouthful.  I chew without closing my lips, concentrating with all my might on not choking.

Ula grins wide and dives into her scrambled eggs.  Nothing’s worse than watching scrambled eggs mawed to bits in a wide wet mouth.  

Bob sits down at the table, too, and begins loudly sucking bits of food from his teeth between slurps of his coffee.  I smack my lips loudly and dive back into my own repast.

The kitchen is filled with a symphony of disgusting mouth sounds.   Slurp, smack, swish.  Burp. Aaaaa….Slurp, smack, swish, Burp.  Aaaaa….

“On’t worry a-out ih.”  I comfort her.  “Ahll call ‘em an say oo ont ant oo it.”

Saoirse tries to keep her face straight.  I can see her lips twitching.  “I’m sorry, mother, I can’t understand you when you’re talking with food in your mouth.”

I swallow.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll call them and say you can’t do it.”

I pick my plate up and carry it to the kitchen.

“Fine!  I’ll do it!”

One night later we come home from the farm and Saoirse calls us over to the computer for her film premier.  In my opinion, she’s done a great job.  The video is magical.  We cheer and start to walk away when she calls us back.  “Wait!  You have to see the closing credits!”  

She’s listed every interviewee, even the folks who gave her technical support.  And at the bottom, there are two more credits:

Shannon Hayes…….Emotional Support

Shannon Hayes…….Main Motivator (Chew with your F*cking mouth closed!)

She makes one last edit, replacing the final credit with Main Motivator (CWYFMC), and she finishes and leaves for her CIT job at the camp.

I wonder if she’s doing what they ask her to do there?