Stop Asking Your Teen How Their Day Was

This is One Thing, a column with tips on how to live.

“How was your day?” Those used to be the first words out of my mouth the moment my daughter hopped into the car at the pickup line. Throughout elementary school, she was eager to regale me with stories: something fascinating she learned in class, a bit of gossip from recess, the details of her new crush. I was privy to it all. Other parents would lament that their kids only ever gave them the dreaded “fine” response—and I was a little bit smug.

That was, until my daughter started middle school. Now that she was 13, stony silence replaced the endless chatter that had once filled our car rides.

Desperately hoping for some insight into what had occurred in the many hours since she’d left the house, I would gently prod. But my inquiries were met with annoyed sighs and a blistering side-eye that made me feel like a tween instead of a 43-year-old woman. Inevitably, a heated argument would erupt over her attitude. At home, her bedroom door slammed, leaving me even more shut out. The fighting was exhausting and driving a wedge between us.

Parenting websites suggest encouraging your child to engage by asking open-ended questions, conversation starters like “What made your teacher smile/frown today?” or “How did you show kindness?” Just reading those questions made me cringe. I could only imagine the withering disdain that might register on my teen’s face if I tried them on her.

Then I realized: Would I want to be interrogated the second I finished a tough workday? After an exhausting day navigating social dynamics and an intense academic schedule topped off with team sports, maybe she simply didn’t feel like talking. Perhaps the solution was, on those car rides, to simply not ask her anything at all.

The first afternoon of my experiment, I greeted my daughter with a hug and said I was happy to see her before I started driving home. Then I zipped it. About 10 minutes later, she finally registered the quiet. “Why are you being so weird?” she demanded. I told her I didn’t want to bombard her with questions anymore. So instead I’d wait for her to share, whenever she was ready. Rather than shooting me a dirty look, she smiled.

Now, aside from music playing in the background, my daughter and I usually drive home in silence. Occasionally, she’ll even hold my hand. After we’ve gotten home and she’s had time and space to decompress, she’s ready to share her day’s highs and lows. Sometimes she’ll tell me about her day at dinner. Other evenings it’s not till way later, when she’s finished her homework, screen time, and skin care routine. (She is Gen Alpha, after all.)

Her door still slams sometimes, but it’s never long before it cracks open again. “Ready to hear the tea?” she’ll say as we snuggle on the couch together. Turns out, all it took to get her to talk was for me to shut up.

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