A Father's Voiceover: Wanting to be Called a 'Damn Old Man!' by His Adolescent Daughter

'Shut up, you old hag!' Back when I was in my rebellious phase, I would kick doors, punch holes in them, and scream that at my parents before storming out of the house. Looking back now, it was a very easy-to-understand stormy weather pattern. If the local weather station had been monitoring me, they would have announced, 'This afternoon, due to the influence of the adolescent front, localized wind damage to doors has occurred.'

Ten years later, my daughter was born.

When I returned to my parents' house, the hole from that day was still there. Apparently, my mother never patched it. I don't know if it was a warning, a memento, or if she just couldn't be bothered. Regardless, the hole left in the wall silently displayed my dark history.

When my daughter was small, senior dads would kindly and ominously tell me things like, 'It's only for now,' 'Before you know it, she won't even talk to you,' or 'Your laundry will be washed separately.' It was like a weekly weather forecast.

'Currently, it is sunny. In some places, you may be asked for hugs. However, in a few years, a very strong rebellious front will approach, which may cause significant damage to Dad's heart. Please refrain from unnecessary or urgent approaches, and be wary of harsh words near the daughter's room.'

I took that forecast seriously, closed the shutters of my heart, and stockpiled my mental health like emergency rations.

Then my daughter became a high school student. She started coming home late from her part-time job, her weekends were filled with plans with friends, and she began to have a world that I, her dad, knew nothing about. The process of growing apart from her parents was definitely underway. Although I felt the clouds gradually increasing in the sky that had been clear for so long, the storm zone I had been bracing for never arrived.

What I hear from the entryway is 'I'm home,' what flows through the living room is 'I'm hungry,' and what mixes into the morning air is 'See you later.' It was a massive anticlimax.

When my daughter was little, she would often hold my hand. When we went shopping, she would naturally reach out, and when we went to the park, she would demand a piggyback ride. Even though I had prepared myself for the feeling of a sunset beach, anticipating the day she would let go of my hand, she still links arms with me naturally even now.

And she doesn't call me a 'damn old man!' either.

When my daughter was small, I admired Yosuke Kubozuka and shaved my head once. At that time, she cried loudly, saying, 'Dad went bald!' and far from holding hands and walking together, she wouldn't even walk next to me unless I wore a hat. Back then, I braced myself, thinking, 'Is this the precursor to the rebellious phase?' but after that, when my hair grew back, the warning was lifted, and she went back to linking arms with her long-haired dad. It seems the latest Reiwa-era standard for the distance between a father and daughter is just about the disaster of the father's head.

What's even more confusing is that when I come home, I sometimes find my daughter sleeping in my bed. In a Showa-era family drama, that setting would have been rejected in a script meeting. I had prepared for the future where I'd be told, 'Dad, you stink.' I am a man in his forties. It wouldn't be strange for the essence of life to be seeping out of my body. I had braced myself for having my laundry separated and even having the spot where I sat on the sofa sanitized, but in reality, I wake up feeling like the bed is narrow, only to find my daughter sleeping next to me. It's not a horror story. We are parent and child. Either my daughter's sense of smell is kind, or her nose is in power-saving mode when it comes to Dad—it's one of the two.

Had I expected too much from the rebellious phase? My own rebellious phase was a very easy-to-observe stormy weather pattern. If I kicked a door, a hole would open; if I screamed, the air in the house would shake. That's why I thought my daughter would follow the same path. However, my daughter goes to her part-time job, hangs out with friends, and when she returns, she sleeps in Dad's bed. It seems there has been a generational shift in the rebellious phase as well.

I haven't given up on the possibility that I might suddenly be called a 'damn old man!' tomorrow. For that day, my typhoon preparations in my heart are still perfect. In fact, if she actually says it, I want to say, 'Congratulations.' It would be like a typhoon that I had been watching on the trajectory map for years finally making landfall from the bay. In reality, I'd probably be depressed by the low pressure for about three days and stay in bed. Dad's heart might look strong, but it's as vulnerable to humidity as a rice cracker.

And now, the person who makes the most holes in our house is my wife. The parents' house, which was the monument to my rebellious phase that my mother never patched, is gone. But in our home, the latest Reiwa-era holes keep increasing. I was waiting for the declaration of the rebellious phase, looking up at the sky and reading the flow of the clouds in preparation for my daughter's rebellion. However, the storm came from a completely different direction.

In life, sometimes the wall breaks from a direction different from the forecast.

The daughter who won't wake up in the morning

In my parents' house, there was a rather bold rule that you must not close the door to a child's room. Looking back now, that was a declaration of war on privacy within the family. For an adolescent child, their room is a small independent nation. Whether there are manga piled up on the desk or some secret sleeping under the bed, that is inside the national border. Yet, the door at my parents' house was always being forced to open.

That's why, when I became a parent, I didn't say anything about the door to my daughter's room. There is no need for a parent to be the border guard for their daughter's room. However, in reality, my daughter's room is always wide open. As a result of giving her freedom, it has become an unexpected state of anarchy.

However, it takes resolve to enter. Clothes are dropped on the floor, papers are dropped, small items I don't know when she bought are dropped, and even dangerous items that could send the dogs to the hospital if they accidentally put them in their mouths are dropped. I was afraid of becoming 'the dad who enters his adolescent daughter's room without permission,' but in reality, I became 'the dad who doesn't want to enter because it's too messy.' Life throws laundry at you from an unexpected angle.

Such a daughter is weak in the morning.

She is in a rebellious phase against the concept of morning. From six o'clock, when she has no intention of waking up, the alarm goes off every five minutes. In her mind, it's probably 'a trick to wake up properly.' However, the ones who wake up because of that are the parents and the atmosphere of the house. The dogs also wake up with a look that says, 'Something has started,' but the person herself remains motionless like a stone statue deep inside the futon.

The night before, my daughter always says,

'I'll wake up by myself tomorrow.'

I've heard it so many times. I've heard it so much that it could become a proverb. I can feel the high schooler-like independence in those words, and every time, I believe that next time she will. Parents, even knowing they will be betrayed, end up accepting their child's 'tomorrow for sure.' When I was a high schooler, I rebelled against my parents, worried about my career path, and while running through the middle of my youth, I at least woke up by myself in the morning. I went to sleep believing those words, but when morning came, it was the usual morning where only the alarm clock worked diligently.

A little 'wake up' won't get her up with anything more than a 'hmm' response. If she seems to wake up, she sinks back down; if she seems to have answered, she turns over; and when I call out, 'Aren't you going to school?', an angry voice comes from inside the futon, 'I'm awake!'

I release the dogs into my daughter's room, heart racing as I think, 'Is this the rumored rebellious phase?' The dogs head straight for the bed, climb onto the futon with their small bodies, go near my daughter's face, press their noses against her, and start the licking alarm. For the dogs, it's more of a morning event than a job. It's rare to find dogs with such a sense of mission about licking a daughter's face.

The daughter who won't move even when her parents call her starts to shake inside the futon when I introduce the dogs. What is education? Even if teachers teach and society demands independence, the first thing that moves my daughter in the morning is the dogs' licking. Saliva over academic ability. Reality is sometimes cruel.

Could it be that she doesn't wake up because she's spoiled by the fact that she can be woken up? Dad calls out, and the dogs are introduced. In the end, it works out. Isn't she spoiled by that mechanism? As a parent, shouldn't I dare to let her go here? Independence starts from getting out of the futon on your own one morning. That day, I kept my parental strictness in my heart and dared to stay silent.

As a result, my daughter was late.

Well, it's the first day, so it can't be helped. People learn from failure. My daughter will surely think, 'I have to wake up by myself tomorrow.' I stayed silent the next day too, out of educational consideration. It's definitely not because I wanted to sleep in.

As a result, my daughter was late again.

It seems independence doesn't start with 'She's already a high schooler, so let's leave her alone.' Even though she looks like an adult, she still has the dogs' tongues in the morning. Even though she has her own world on the other side of her smartphone, she still needs her parents' hands somewhere.

Thinking back, my father was also weak in the morning. He was a person who wouldn't wake up even if his futon was ripped off, so my mother was in a terrible mood every morning, and because I was on the receiving end of her displaced anger, I decided as a child, 'I won't become like that.' However, now, there is a daughter in front of me who won't wake up in the morning. I intended to use it as a cautionary tale, but it came back across generations. Genetics is terrifying. Not only face and constitution, but even the degree of not waking up was inherited.

I finally understood as a parent why my mother was angry every morning. Becoming an adult is understanding the feelings of the parents you disliked in unexpected situations. I would have liked to understand it in a more moving situation if possible. However, in our house, it's my daughter's oversleeping and the dogs' licking.

When I woke up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, laughter was leaking from the room of my daughter who said, 'I'll wake up by myself tomorrow.' I could see the ending of the next morning, but I couldn't be strict. When I was a high schooler, I was obsessed with FF7 and stayed up all night. From a parent's perspective, it's staying up late, but from my daughter's perspective, she's in the middle of the final boss battle right now. The opponent isn't Sephiroth, but someone on the other side of the smartphone.

And the next morning, the alarm goes off again. As expected, my daughter doesn't wake up. The door that I wasn't allowed to close at my parents' house is now an open, messy border. Back then, I longed for closed freedom. Now, facing the room that is left wide open, I am holding two dogs and waiting for the timing to charge in.

I tuck my parental dignity into my heart, pretend not to see the devastation in the room, and release the dogs again.

In the end, what moves my daughter's independence is the dogs' licking alarm.

The world the father doesn't know

After becoming a high schooler, my daughter started working a part-time job. It's good for social studies, and she understands the value of money. As a parent, I should think, 'That's great,' but the time she comes home is around 11:00 PM.

11:00 PM, which I would have argued was 'just getting started' when I was young, is already 'closing time' for a body in its forties. Even if my daughter comes home saying 'I'm home' at a time when the screen of static has started to flow, the persuasiveness of the futon is too strong.

Because of that, conversations with my daughter naturally decreased. In the past, my daughter's day was brought into the house. It was an evening information program that started on its own without me even asking, about who said what at school or how the school lunch was. I could watch 'Today's Daughter News'—feature segments, live reports, and sometimes even breaking news—just by sitting on the sofa.

However, recently, that program seems to have changed its broadcast time. The new broadcast slot is when I'm asleep. Moreover, there are no reruns or missed-streamings. Dad just senses that something must have happened last night from the air left at the breakfast table the next morning. It's too much of an information disadvantage.

Even on holidays, if I asked, 'Where are we going?', that became the family's plan. My daughter's world used to be operated by her parents' wallets, cars, and legs, but now, when holidays come, she has part-time work, and plans are made with someone on the other side of her smartphone. By the time I look at the calendar and ask, 'Are you free on this day?', it's already booked.

Even so, it hasn't been completely cut off. My daughter occasionally holds her smartphone and brings the screen close, saying, 'Look at this.' With those words, a small light is lit in Dad's heart.

However, the screen is close.

I want to accept my daughter's feelings with all my might, but the smartphone screen that is too close is light, not an image. While I'm debating whether to have her stretch her arm a little or to step back myself, the video ends. Dad's focal length and the length of youth videos don't get along.

From my daughter's perspective, it probably looks like Dad is laughing while watching the video. But in reality, I am laughing at the fact that 'my daughter shared it with me.'

My daughter's world gradually expanded to the other side of the smartphone. I can hear voices talking to someone from her room, but I don't know the content of the conversation. It's like watching a foreign drama through a wall.

In the past, I sort of knew the names of my daughter's friends. If I saw their faces at sports days or class observations, I could think, 'Oh, that kid,' but now, no character image comes to mind. New characters are added without me knowing the relationship chart, and I'm being shown from season seven without knowing the synopsis of the previous episodes. They're probably good kids. I don't know, though.

Regarding romance, the reception gets even worse. I had braced myself that once she became a high schooler, talk of a boyfriend would eventually come up. I want her to enjoy her youth, and it's natural to have someone she likes. I have the desire to support her, but I want the guy on the other side to sit in seiza once. I want to check his ID at the entryway and ask about his hobbies, future plans, and at least his favorite Hanshin player. I'm afraid that what was supposed to be a romance talk show will turn into a pressure interview before I know it.

One day, I heard a conversation between my wife and daughter.

'That's why you get dumped, because of that attitude!'

Dumped? Who? My daughter? Wait, when did this happen? Did she have a boyfriend? Did she confess and get dumped? Maybe she started dating without me knowing, reached the finale without me knowing, and I was left behind as a viewer who hadn't even seen the show's promotion.

I quietly started a verification program in the corner of the living room. The clues are 'attitude' and 'get dumped.' Even if I'm told to solve the truth with just this, there isn't enough time.

That said, I've never heard from my daughter that 'I got a boyfriend.' If I ask, 'Did you have a boyfriend?', there's a possibility I could get closer to the truth. But at the same time, there's a danger that the program itself will be canceled. Even if it's a normal conversation between my wife and daughter, if Dad carelessly interrupts, the atmosphere in the studio will freeze instantly. To protect the peace, I didn't ask... no, I was too scared to ask.

Dad is in a position as delayed as a local broadcasting station when it comes to information within the family. It's not that it's being kept secret, but rather a world where the broadcasting rights are no longer issued. The feeling of liking someone, the night she might have been dumped. I'm not allowed to broadcast all of it like in the past.

It wouldn't be a lie to say that it's lonely that Dad's TV column is gradually being removed from my daughter's program guide. When she was little, my daughter pulled my hand every time she expanded her world. Whether going to the park or entering a store I didn't know, she looked at Dad first. My daughter now goes somewhere on her own with a smartphone in one hand. She is laughing and getting hurt with emotions Dad doesn't know. If Dad were a regular cast member in all of that, it would actually be scary. My daughter's youth doesn't need Dad's voiceover.

Looking back, I didn't introduce every girlfriend I dated to my parents one by one. I grew up holding secrets, worrying about trivial things, and getting hurt. It's selfish of me to put my own past on a shelf and demand a weekly digest version from my daughter. The past I put on the shelf is about to break through the ceiling.

Today, fun voices are leaking from my daughter's room again. I don't know what they are talking about. Was it a boyfriend, was it a crush, the truth of that 'you get dumped' is also lost in a labyrinth. The world Dad doesn't know was expanding smoothly today as well.

My daughter's world has the main story progressing on the other side of the smartphone, and Dad's world is blurred on the other side of his reading glasses.

When those two worlds occasionally intersect, the screen is always too close. I will probably laugh again, pretending I can see it. Even so, the smartphone held out to me is, for Dad, a special rerun of 'Today's Daughter News' that should have been canceled.

The rebellious phase invisible to the father

Do parent-child quarrels happen because they are angry? Or are they observed as quarrels for the first time the moment the anger is put into words? I have never had a parent-child quarrel with my daughter. Today is sunny again. Zero percent chance of rain. It is a calm sky where laundry dries well.

I do get irritated. I'm told 'I'll do it later' while she's looking at her smartphone, and that 'later' is often as unreliable as 'rain in some places.' Every time that happens, a small low-pressure system forms deep in my heart, but I don't put it into words.

That's because if I put my anger into words, a damp atmosphere spreads through the house. If it's a printout dropped under the desk, I can just pick it up, but the bad mood that has spread in the living room doesn't easily go away even if I turn on the ventilation fan. If so, I'll pretend I didn't observe the low pressure from the beginning.

My daughter, too, must be irritated with Dad sometimes. I move when I'm supposed to, but my reaction is slow. My vocabulary updates are also suspicious, and if I'm not careful, I immediately bring out the yardsticks of the Showa or Heisei eras. From my daughter's perspective, Dad's very existence is sometimes a cloudy sky. Even so, my daughter doesn't put it into words toward Dad.

I thought my daughter wouldn't have a rebellious phase. However, watching the relationship between my wife and daughter, it seems the rebellious phase was occurring properly. My wife and daughter often clash. My wife sounds the thunder first, and my daughter returns the lightning from under those clouds. From my perspective, why did she drop that word now, why did she return with that expression, why did she close the door strongly at that timing—everything is a question.

Until a moment ago, the living room should have been calm weather, but before I knew it, cumulonimbus clouds developed, the dogs sensed the change in atmospheric pressure early and quietly moved to a safe place.

I, like the dogs, have high disaster prevention awareness and don't approach that stormy area. However, while watching that, I do think, 'Which one is in the rebellious phase?' It looks like my daughter is rebelling, and it also looks like my wife is rebelling. If you call the state where emotions don't go as planned and you hit them against walls or the other person a rebellious phase, don't adults also have a proper rebellious phase? The latest Reiwa-era holes carved into our walls are probably the claw marks of an adult's gust of wind passing through. Thinking about it, a home is a rather dangerous intersection where adolescence, menopause, fatigue, and hunger gather in the same living room.

One day, my wife's mood was rougher than usual. The trigger was my daughter's attitude toward life. My wife's voice grew stronger, my daughter's voice returned, and the humidity in the room rose step by step. I and the dogs erased our presence in the corner of the living room and watched the isobars from afar with faces like Japan Meteorological Agency officials.

Eventually, my daughter took her luggage and left the house. Her destination was Grandma's house. At this point, it's quite different from my running away from home. She's not wandering the night streets, nor is she hugging her knees on a park bench. The place she's heading is safe, warm, and has food. Rather than running away from home, it's a voluntary evacuation to a shelter. It's more peaceful to leave once, lower the temperature in a different place, and then return, rather than continuing to clash head-on. The fact that my wife's parents' house became closer after moving to Tokyo is also a big factor. If we were still in Okinawa, we would have needed a plane to run away from home. If a plane ticket is needed for a rebellious phase, it's no longer a parent-child quarrel but a travel agency case.

That said, when it's just the two of us, the leftover rain clouds flow in and we receive secondary damage. That part is what I can't accept. The weather of a home is, after all, unreasonable.

Inside the house, there is the weather visible to Dad, the weather visible to my wife, and the weather raging inside my daughter herself. Even if the place I am is sunny, there are times when warning-level heavy rain is falling in the next room. Moreover, it doesn't show up on the rain cloud radar. Only when my wife's voice gets louder do I know, 'Oh, it's raining over there now.'

If it were my daughter when she was little, she would have answered if I asked why she was crying, but the weather map of a high schooler daughter is not that simple. Clouds I don't know are flowing inside my daughter's heart. Even so, if there is a place to return to, that's fine for now.

And I, pretending not to ask anything to my daughter who returned, look up at the sky in the corner of the living room as usual. Dad's job is not to be the protagonist of the rebellious phase, but to be the background where my daughter, who finished taking shelter from the rain, can pass by as if nothing happened.

In the past, the hole in the door I opened was a trace of rebellion directed at my parents. The hole in the wall my wife opens is a rough meteorological phenomenon that hit a low-pressure system. Now, what my daughter opens is the door of the house. And the destination is Grandma's house. She doesn't break the wall and properly goes through the ticket gate. Thinking about it, my daughter's rebellious phase is quite civilized.

Youth doesn't return

I occasionally think about the reason why I'm not called a 'damn old man!' by my daughter. Is today's mood a north wind? Is answering while looking at her smartphone a headwind? Is the day she linked arms with me a tailwind? Dad always tries to read the wind in a way that is convenient for him.

There is also a possibility that it's hard to rebel because Dad is too cool. Looking in the mirror, it might not be that she can't rebel out of respect, but just that she doesn't feel enough pressure from her father to rebel. My father, who only said 'Food' from behind the newspaper and whose atmospheric pressure changed when I approached, had something like dignity or distance. Compared to that, I'm the type who has talked a lot with my daughter. Instead of saying 'Food,' I'm the one making food in the kitchen. I don't have the gravitas as a father. I'm treated like a breeze, not a typhoon.

It might also be that I spoiled her too much as an only daughter. Because my daughter said, 'I want to go to a high school in Tokyo,' we moved from Okinawa to Tokyo. The reason was that she wanted to dance. However, she has already quit that dance. I want to retort, 'Why is that?', but perhaps this is the rebellious phase. While having the whole family ride the south wind to move to Tokyo, she changes the wind direction halfway through. It's a rebellious phase of quite a large scale. It opens a hole in the household budget much more than opening a hole in a door.

The three years of high school are much shorter than you think. Just when you think she's enrolled, the uniform fits her body, the commute becomes daily life, plans with friends increase, she starts a part-time job, and before you know it, the signs of graduation blow in. From a parent's perspective, even if the lingering scent of her school bag remains, the person's time moves mercilessly. Even if the parent shouts from behind, 'Wait a minute,' youth doesn't look back. Youth is like a bicycle riding a tailwind. By the time you notice, it has already disappeared over the hill.

That's why I want my daughter to enjoy her high school life to the fullest. Laughing with friends, getting tired from her part-time job, being obsessed with something on the other side of her smartphone, sometimes liking someone, and there will probably be days when she comes home dejected because things didn't go well.

Rather than spending time in a safe room prepared by her parents with the windows closed, I want her to walk outside even if her hair gets a little messy. As a parent, I am worried, but if even youth proceeds according to the parent's weather forecast, that would be boring.

I also had a high school era. It's not all things I can be proud of. There are things I want to go back to the hole in the door of my parents' house and apologize for now. I must have been a difficult weather map from my parents' perspective, becoming moody for no reason, staying silent for no reason. Thinking about that, it is something to be grateful for that my daughter is currently in a calm weather pattern.

That said, I can't let my guard down. There is also a possibility that the rebellious phase that didn't come during high school will arrive with a delay certificate at the same time as university enrollment. The thunder of 'Damn old man!' might suddenly fall in the living room one morning.

That's why now, I have no choice but to receive the wind that is here. The days she links arms with me, the days she sleeps in Dad's bed, the mornings she wakes up to the dogs' licking, and the nights she thrusts her smartphone in front of me will surely end someday. That's why I want to miss as little as possible. But I can't help it if I can't see it. I have presbyopia, I'm a father, and there are places in my daughter's world that don't have admission tickets. Even so, when she holds it out, I want to accept it while laughing, 'Huh.'

Last week, there was 'Father's Day,' when I was hoping that a tailwind would blow for my daughter's youth like that.

While pretending not to expect anything from the morning, I was setting up a small ceremony venue in my heart. I won't even go as far as a bouquet. A single word of 'Thank you for everything' is fine. If anything, a cream puff from a convenience store is fine. Dad immediately spreads his sails with a little tailwind.

However, there was nothing.

It was windless. Zero wind speed. It was a magnificent calm where even the curtains didn't sway. I doubted if the event called Father's Day was a local rule practiced only in some regions. At least our family's Father's Day was not listed in the TV column or program guide. There was no special program for 'Today's Daughter News,' and the day ended with the usual schedule.

Could this be it? Has it finally come?

Not screaming 'Damn old man!', not opening a hole in the door, not evacuating to Grandma's house. It's the latest Reiwa-era quiet rebellious phase of passing through Father's Day completely windless. It's a rather advanced meteorological phenomenon that seems like it won't be noticed by Dad, but it definitely throws a small pebble toward my chest.

The three years of high school won't return. Youth won't return. And Father's Day, apparently, doesn't return once it passes.

Daughter, I want you to enjoy your youth to the fullest. Whether it's a tailwind day or a headwind day, if you look back later, it's all three years of high school youth.

I'll decide to watch from a slightly distant place while messing up my hair.

However, for next year's Father's Day, please let it blow, even if it's just a breeze. That's because Dad's heart's laundry didn't dry at all this year.