«Dad, I'm sleeping at mum's. OK?»
It's Friday evening and, as usual, I call my 16-year-old daughter Olivia on WhatsApp. I see her new profile picture: duck face with dog nose and ears, next to her BFF Sabrina (best friend forever).
«What's up?»
In the background, the laughter of teenagers and German gangster rap.
«What does your evening look like tonight?»
«I'm outside.»
The young people of today say this as if they have escaped from prison («inside»).
We agree that she has to be home by midnight.
Shortly before this deadline, a WhatsApp message arrives: «Dad, I'm sleeping at mum's. OK?», along with a photo of her in trainers in front of the TV. It's actually reassuring, but as a father you develop a feeling for when something is wrong. I think of a pretext question to call her. I could ask her if she would come shopping with me on Saturday. After several attempts to call, she answers - more than annoyed. «Have you still got all your wits about you to ring the bell over something so trivial?» But then she reluctantly agrees.
It's 3.10 a.m. when the ringing of the phone rouses me from my sleep. I shoot up, feel the mobile phone on the bedside table and try to make out the number with squinted eyes. Unknown caller. It's Police Constable Brunner. I'm wide awake in one fell swoop. «Are you the father of Olivia V.?». «Yes, I am, what's happened?». «We picked up your daughter on the pillion of a Vespa in Basel. And the driver doesn't have a valid driving licence. You can pick up your daughter at the police station.»
I scramble into my clothes and put on my contact lenses, accompanied by countless curses. They don't stop as I drive through the streets. At the police station, I see two girls sitting on a bench behind the glass door, both with red, teary eyes. The guilty conscience of the perpetrators is written all over their faces. Olivia and - who's surprised? - Sabrina. I pull open the door, stomp past them without a word and punish them both with a killer look.
Mobile phone ban for a week. That's the ultimate punishment. Unfortunately.
The guard on duty describes the «course of events» to me again in detail. I sincerely and audibly thank Olivia and Sabrina for picking them up. Now I just want to get out of here, give Olivia a brusque hand signal and we leave the police station together. Sabrina stays behind alone. There's an angry tirade in the car straight away. The journey home is wordless. Olivia sits in the back and I feel like a grumpy taxi driver.
I'm back in bed at 4.30am, but sleep is out of the question. Shortly afterwards, I can still hear the heated murmur of voices outside from Sabrina and her father, who has obviously had the same pleasure as me. Although we are practically neighbours, we were called out independently of each other.
My verdict for Olivia? A mobile phone ban for a week - the maximum punishment for a teenager, comparable to house arrest in my day. Incidentally, Olivia's mum wasn't even at home that Friday evening, as I found out afterwards.
At least the Vespa wasn't stolen, but secretly borrowed from Sabrina's mum. As a consequence, Sabrina is not allowed to take her motorbike test until two years later, as the public prosecutor decided. Apart from the mobile phone ban, Olivia gets off scot-free. A pity, really.
And the moral of the story? As soon as your children can walk, hide all car and motorbike keys from them. And make sure their mum is informed and, above all, that she is at home when your child claims to be sleeping over.
Picture: Pixabay
To the author:
Andreas B. lives in the suburbs of a large German-speaking Swiss city, has been separated for four years and is a single parent. His teenage daughters and their friends actually have different names, but we want to prevent future employers from coming across these unvarnished adolescent experiences.