When my children were tiny, then small, then in the initial stages of growing up, I periodically consulted the experts to reassure myself that I and they would survive. Unlike 21st century parents, my generation had but one reliable source: Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care.
As most children do, mine had their fears, and I, as most parents do, tried to assuage them. I did whatever it took to prove that no monsters lurked inside their closets or beneath their beds. I did not argue with anything that helped them to feel safe. One of my girls took a running leap from mid floor and dived into bed to avoid whatever lurked beneath. A son slept with the overhead light on for years. I looked at them as they slept and marveled at the wonder of it all, hoping I could always protect them from the beasts of life, real or imagined.
Then came the day that I tucked in each of my beautiful children, and he or she awoke as a teenager. (Note: Teenager is not defined by the year but by the attitude and can occur anytime at or after age ten..) At this point, it helped me to understand what was going to occur in my life for the next one to nine years because I had read and taught Golding's Lord of the Flies--a more reliable source for this particular period in a child's life than Dr. Spock could ever hope to provide.
Suddenly, the child who had valued my opinion, wanted to go with me wherever I went, answered the question: "What happened at school today?" was the monster in the bedroom. That monster did not want my opinion or my existence.
After all, what did I know, I who was spawned in another century on another planet. "You don't understand," they'd lament, even though I was relatively sure that I did. I knew that I was really a "with it" person, but they could not see this through their Lord of the Flies symptomatic blindness. Not only did they refuse to be seen with me, sometimes they did not even claim me. If and when they did, it was with apologies: "Mom's a little weird."
I tried to understand the look of horror on their faces when I suggested that we do something together. After all, I was young once, regardless of what they thought. I once threw a fit at the prospect of an outing with my very pregnant mother, a 10-year-old sister, an obnoxious 8-year-old brother, and my grandmother. I was practically thirteen and had my standards. I probably said, "I'd rather die!" To a teenage girl, this is not high drama. It is absolute truth. Many parents learn, as the teenager invades their own lives, that Karma is a bitch.
No child wants to become this inexplicable, irrational beast, but hormones negate that desire, once they are in overdrive. I've taught teenagers for nearly three decades and have passed through this ordeal as a mother of four. I know what I am talking about. Been there; done that, as it were.
During one dark period in my life, I had two teens experiencing what could, at the very least, be called "a difficult stage." Picture the 13-year-old girl sitting in the back seat wit the 17-year-old boy. Their initial fight had been over whose turn it was to sit in the front seat, and so I had made them both sit in the back and put the 10-year-old in the front with me. He was still being human.)
The two teens in the back continued bickering. I continued to utter the empty phrases learned from my own mother: "Do you want me to pull over?" or "If I have to stop this car...." (Dante should have had teens in their bestial stage as the ultimate torture in his circles of Hell.)
Once I'd dumped out the teens at their music lessons, the 10-year-old son, an earnest child, said, "I promise I won't do that when I get older."
"Oh, yes you will, " I replied with great resignation. "You won't be able to help it. I do appreciate your desire to try," I said, patting him on the head. "It happens to all of us."
"You mean you acted that way? he asked. He was shocked.
"'Friad so," I confessed. "Your grandmother always said, 'I hope you have children who behave exactly as you're behaving at this moment.'" I frequently remind her that I have been repaid, in spades. She just smiles a self-satisfied smile and knows she has been vindicated."
Jack, Piggy, Ralph, the twins and others landed in Golding's deserted Eden. There were no adults to corrupt them, no violent movies, television, or video games. But those boys were between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Things could not have ended well.
And so, where does this leave you as a parent with a formerly lovely child who now appears to need exorcism? I could placate you with, "And this too shall pass," and it will. In the meantime, find a support group, know that you are not alone, and pray that your child has a child who pays them back. Revenge does have its merits and sweet rewards in Life's more troubling times.
No comments:
Post a Comment