Teen spirit

 "I'm going shopping, does anyone want to go with me?"

I was talking to the air around me, fully expecting silence, when the two teenagers within earshot harmonized "Yes."

The girl is usually a coin flip, but the boy rarely obliges.

Shopping isn't his thing. He's fine with shrugging his shoulders when asked if he needs anything from the market, and then nodding or shaking his head as I press him on a list I've made on my own.

Do you need shorts? Underwear? Soap or shampoo?

What would you like for dinner? Soup? Stroganoff? 

It's so rare to hear: "I'll just go with you," now in a voice so low on the vocal register I can barely make out the words that I almost wanted to celebrate.

I even felt a little remorseful as I ousted him from the front seat in deference to his older sister, who could easily suffer the indignity of taking a backseat to her little brother if she didn't also suffer from motion sickness. A malady the boy himself didn't inherit and wasn't conniving enough to feign. 

He didn't even rhyme the words that have been used against him time and again when his slow-motion meandering makes him the rotten egg.

"You snooze, you lose."

For her part, the surprise presence of her brother on this hastily planned procurement excursion didn't phase her. She doesn't even think of him as a Little Bother let alone call him that to his face. 

She doesn't lord her senior status over his first-year lack of standing. And for his part, he doesn't pester her that he actually stands taller.

For my part, I follow them around the store with a basket as they decide on the things they'd like.

She needs shampoo and conditioner. He needs deodorant and body wash.

She opens caps and breathes in the scent as best as she can through her mask, while he tips a package straight from a shelf into the basket. 

She plucks the thing out with two fingers and an arm's length of utter disdain.

"You can't buy just anything! What if you hate it? What if it's entirely offensive? What if it smelled like a muskrat that died in a sewer?"

He takes a whiff, gags, and quickly puts the stick of odorant back on the shelf. 

"Try this one. It just smells clean."

And this is how it goes for the better part of an hour. We wind our way through clothing and accessories to toiletries. They argue the merits of one snack food over another with good humor. 

She enjoys being his personal shopper and he gains confidence through her recommendations. As I push my card into the reader, I wondered if I've ever felt happier to part with money? 

And that's when it occurred to me that we hadn't been in this particular store together in a decade when my daughter rebelled following a particular temper tantrum from her brother that brought her to tears. 

Noting small joys has been essential to me as I use them to plaster over the mounting dings of life's disappointments. It's the sweet jelly that makes the salty peanut butter palatable in my generational sandwich. 

I am particularly grateful that sometimes teen spirit seems so much more resilient.

It's also nice to know that time heals at least one wound.