Say It Ain't So (The Thrills - 2003)

(Click4 to listen to "Say It Ain't So")

“A paranoiac, like a poet, is born, not made.” ~ Luis Buñuel Portolés

Lauren approached our waiting car, looking as if she had just thrown up in her mouth.

I was picking her up at the end of another school day. However, it appeared my 7th Grader didn't have just "another school day." She either had a mouthful of puke, or something was dreadfully wrong in the unfair — and sometimes cruel — world that she calls "school." (Upon reflection, it could possibly have been both. After all, Lauren's "puke" face and "something wrong" face, are exactly the same face. Not to mention, having regurgitated food in your mouth, is often perfectly dreadful — especially at school.)

I suspected the look had nothing to do with vomit.

As she threw herself and her backpack in the front passenger seat, I said, “Hi Sweetie, how was your day?”

Looking me squarely in the eyes, she said, “Dad, do you think I'm paranoid?”

Note: Lauren's question caught me by surprise. However, I'd be lying if I said, "Gee, I've never even considered this question before." Okay, I've concluded, Lauren is not “paranoid” — in the clinically psychotic definition of the word. However, I must say, the kid does have an overly abundant number of irrational fears and anxieties. Some of the very recent few include, but are not limited to hookworm infections, sharp pretzels, parking in front of liquor stores, moths, and the imminent end of the world. 'Nough said.

“Why?” I asked almost defensively, as if it was some kind of trick question.

“Dad, do you think I'm paranoid?”

Sounding a flabber short of being gasted, I said, “Why, did somebody say you’re paranoid?”

“Yes. Do you think I am?”

Looking away from Lauren’s desperate gaze, I pulled away from the curb to begin what I thought could be a long drive home.

Delaying what would inevitably be an unpopular answer, I said, “Who said you're paranoid?”

“My friends Colleen and Jen,” Lauren said. “So do you?”

Still stalling, I said, "Did they say it nicely?”

“They didn't mean it meanly. Dad, do you think I'm paranoid?”

Her question hung in the air as I took a moment to review my situation: I was trapped with no where to hide. I was like bankrobbers Butch (Paul Newman) and Sundance (Robert Redford) in the 1969 Western, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid — and Lauren was lawman Joe LeFors. She had me cornered, high on a rocky canyon cliff, overlooking a raging river of hormones and teen insecurity. I had no choice but to jump. Like Butch and Sundance, if I could survive the fall, I might be able to escape her angst, and make it home safely. The kid demanded an answer, and required an honest one.

Taking a deep breath, I jumped. “Yeah, I can see why they might say that.”

Tightly gripping the steering wheel, I braced for impact.

“Paranoid? Paranoid!?” she said, slightly raising her voice.

“Okay, of course you're not clinically paranoid," I said. "Perhaps just overly concerned about . . .”

“Dad? Oh my gosh, you think I'm paranoid?”

“No, no, just a bit overly sensitive . . . ”

Again interrupting, more desperate, and speaking rapidly she said, “Paranoid means that I think everything is out to get me. Dad, I don't think everyone is out to get me. Do you think I think that? Do you really think I think that?”

“No, I don't . . ."

"Do you?"

"No, I . . ."

“Oh no! That's bad!"

"What's bad?"

"[My religion teacher] said that God wants people to have a peaceful mind and the devil wants people to be paranoid!”

Oh my. Maybe, on second thought . . .

The water was freezing and I almost drown, but I survived the ride home. I just hope Lauren doesn't ask me this question again anytime soon — the next time I might have a different answer. For now, let's just add "being paranoid" to the long list of my daughter's irrational fears and anxieties.

“Paranoia is knowing all the facts.” ~ Woody Allen