(This is my longest, and commensurately, most painstaking blog to date. Experts proliferate on this subject, so my little blog is not meant to minimize, sound- bite, or act like we broke the code on adolescent challenges. I am painfully aware that the current calm we are experiencing could surely be the one before the storm, or we will wake up tomorrow and start the whole process all over again. This blog is meant to share my experience on the transition of our sons from boys . . . to men.)Survey 100 parents of adolescent children, and with rare exception we all say the same thing: "Overnight, our sweet child morphed into someone we didn't recognize-- literally and figuratively". In our case, adolescence arrived loudly, largely, and with disproportionately greater challenges to one twin son over the other. And while I can't say it blind-sided us, I realize we were sailing along, feeling almost cocky about all this fuss over raising teenagers. . . we actually did think it was safe to go back in the water. . .
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| L to R, Eddie, Jake and Dad -- June 2013 aboard the Anna Marie |
First, they got bigger really suddenly. They had to bend down for me to kiss the top of their head and they were now getting stuff down for me off the top shelf. Their voices didn't just change; they were unrecognizable. They didn't just outgrow their clothes one size. One brother's hand-me-downs are still the others, because there were 4 sizes between them, but we could not have imagined Dad's 34 and men's L would now become hand-me-downs to 13-year old Jake. And after this season's basketball game, closed up in the truck with them, I became acutely aware of just how bad they could smell.
My name went from Mommy, Mommy, Mommy to "Goooooooodddddddd Mooooommmmm" (the rest of that sentence, even if it is only playing in their head, is " you are sooo stupid").
"Yes ma'am" was replaced with "yeah" "I know", and "uh-huh".
Eye rolling began making a sound.
They made that flapping with their hands when they didn't think I could see them that was probably not the chicken dance.
"Come on, are you coming?" was replaced with "you don't need to come in, just drop me" and "no need to volunteer at school anymore, you've done enough".
And the days of wanting me to watch their every move (Mommy, watch me) were replaced with demands to STOP LOOKING at them.
And while the first time they say "NO!" when they are babies makes you laugh, the first time they try it out as teenagers makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.I am the product of good therapy; not good parenting. I am introspective to a fault and feel more insecure about motherhood than anything for which I signed on. Typically, I worry that I was too old to have children, but I am strangely consoled by the fact that a menopausal mother does have the distinct advantage of understanding what it means to have your body hijacked by hormones -- AND --although I can't outrun them; I can outsmart them.
Factor in their Dad, the incredible Steve -- now 80 years young, who, by his standards, "successfully" raised three other sons. They are all college graduates, one Air Force Col. who won Top Gun in the F16 and one Air Force Captain. Two airline captains like him, and one successful businessman. All with beautiful wives, beautiful kids. . . . No fair, we forget pain, re-write history, he already knows how this turns out, AND he is a guy. Not to mention, we measure success differently. I do envy that Steve never wonders if he is a good parent, doesn't want to be their friend, and doesn't care what they think of him. He loves Al Capp's advice that you gotta raise teenage boys with plenty of what they crave - VIOLENCE. A former Navy fighter pilot and commercial Airline Captain, he gave the other 3 roots; then wings, literally. Steve and I approach things so differently that when I once sat the boys down to analyze why they did something unacceptable, one of them asked "Mom, could Dad just hit us?"
When the boys were 4 1/2 , we sold our home and cruised on our boat for 9 months while I home-schooled them through kindergarten. Maybe because success was so easily measured in those early years, or life really was that simple when you live on a 36-foot Pearson, but it seemed to flow and unfold. I barely noticed the transition from little boys to young men. Adolescence? Not so much.
What is it they say? The first step is admitting you have a problem?
- Jake's moodiness and anger began subtly translating into changes in behavior, and not the kind you could measure like bad grades or getting in trouble -- well there was some of that, but always seemingly innocuous. It wasn't clear enough to identify, or it was "on the verge" of the thing. You tell yourself to pick your battles and worry about micro managing. But like the Supreme Court justice said about pornography that he couldn't define, but he knew it when he saw it, we knew Jake was changing and we didn't like it. And although he wanted to be left alone, I knew the further we let him get away from us; the harder it would be to get him back. ONE of THE THINGS --from weight gain to debt to the time that passes between family and friends who stop speaking is that there is that point of no return, where the time and space become the thing that is insurmountable; not the thing itself. Or to put it another way: pay on one end or pay on the other -- nip it in the bud!
We start with the physical:
The pediatrician, dermatologist, chiropractor and dentist are all men that my son respects and likes. The dermatologist is the only one who hasn't known him since birth and when he learned that this 13-year old boy wore a size 13 shoe, he said: "Dude, you wear the same size shoes as me", and when he grinned that old Jakey grin, I felt a little stab in my heart for how long it had been since we'd seen that face. In partnership with Jake, getting him to hold up his end, this guy really cleared up his acne which was apparently no small piece of the puzzle. We were reassured he didn't need braces I can't say we weren't grateful to the dentist who feels that unless it is critical at this stage, no sense adding this burden to the mix. We ruled out mono and re-aligned him, but there were limitations: He actually doesn't feel good and he is tired. He has been the tallest kid in his grade each year that wasn't left back. He has growing pains and they hurt. We go over his wardrobe from top to bottom, we adjust his diet and hygiene and sleep schedule - we figure out what help he may need with studying and homework and projects. We go through the motions of doing some of this with his brother, but it complicates matters that Eddie is either delayed in this process or like everything so far, it will simply come easier for him.
If realizing you have a problem is the first step, deciding what you want the result to be is the second. Success not only becomes very difficult to define, but it is a moving target. I think I started with the physical because victory was so easily measured. His face clears up, he likes his clothes, he gets more rest, he feels better on the vitamins, diet and exercise regime and he aces his exams. But this is only a part of the puzzle, and not even the hard part and by the way, I am now exhausted (asking myself how a working Mother or one who can't devote themselves full time does this). Then one morning he goes back to kissing me goodbye before he gets on the school bus and mumbles under his breath that he loves me. I am rejuvenated -- bring it.
The best advice anyone gave me so far came from the pediatrician who reminded me that when you can't stand teenagers; they probably can't stand themselves. They shrug their shoulders because they really don't know the answer, and they really do want you to stop talking so they can escape into a world of noise cancelling headsets where they really can't hear you. Well I'd like that too if everyone would just do what I say and what they are supposed to be doing. Don't they think Steve and I would rather be sailing . . . ALONE?! I never considered a child to have good manners if the only way they said please, thank you and yes ma'am was in Pavlovian response to a parent saying "now what do you say?" I figured out when they were 4 that they either got this or they don't, and I realize they have manners for the same reason Jake participated in his acne cure -- we may have introduced them to it, but it is now their idea and they choose it as part of their makeup. The same independence that drives them to say no as a toddler, motivates them to find where we end and they begin. So it becomes clear that if only they would do what I want them to do and it was their idea, wouldn't life be grand? Ask me how that is working out for me?
Well, let's see: I have the higher anxiety in personal hygiene (except showers, they like to shower -- oh don't even go there, I'm sure you're right), clean rooms, laundry, chores, homework -- according to them, I nag them about everything but basketball and xbox. And oh yes, the dog. They love taking care of Zuzu (sure, they can tell when she smells!) and these pictures pretty much sum up the difference in how they do that. Subject for another blog is how wrong I was about getting them an animal.
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| Jake walking Zuzu around the circle |
Nothing teaches you like twins how little control you have -- you do everything the same, but they are completely opposite. Steve always says parents take too much credit and too much blame. I wonder that their paths are predetermined by past lives and karma (including mine) so it doesn't matter what I do. So that's the question, isn't it? When do you guide; when do you hit them over the head? It is so easy to say let them fail or leave them alone, they'll figure it out, and I do know they "turn out" fine in the end -- half the time I'm worried they are going to kill us in the process. And I'm not talking about the careers they will choose (although I seriously worry about the day Jake figures out he is probably not getting chosen by the NBA and Eddie figures out you actually can't get a job playing the xbox) -- I'm talking about the kind of people they will be -- What will make me say one day that we raised two boys -- "successfully"?
The version where I look good is like when I'm pregnant and announce that I'll be happy with whatever I get, as long as they are healthy, when in reality I wanted a girl and I cried my eyes out when I found out I was having two boys. I know exactly who I want them to be and how I measure "success" -- I even know what part of that is my ego and some false reflection on my parenting skills. I want them to be A., B., C. and D. and of course, whoever they are, I will celebrate and love unconditionally -- is that true?
A. I do want them to healthy - when you're young, you take health for granted, but at our age we are reaping the benefits of that adage: If I'd have known I was going to live this long, I'd taken better care of myself. .. We're lucky to be living in such a time of awareness of health and this is an area in which we get high marks, or as they say -- snaps!
B. I want them to treat the outside of their bodies like the inside - have white teeth, clear skin and clean fingernails. I'd like them to smell good, or at least not this bad.
C. I know that measuring the success of a day by what we accomplish is my 'mishigas', just like consistency and predictability provides a false sense of security that I know whats coming and I can prepare for it. I know I am kidding myself that when things look good; they are good, but a clean house with beds made and laundry done and dinner on makes me pretty happy. Steve is as bad if not worse, and you know what? Aside from order providing much needed calm and avoiding the unnecessary stress of "where are my . . . has anyone seen my . . ?" these are the parents they got. Maybe they chose us - maybe we are their punishment. You know what I tell them? you aren't necessarily the kids we ordered at all times -- So this is it -- we're the neat and clean family, which means you are also --get over it. Eddie recently complained "God Mom, we aren't yours and Dad's slaves you know - you could at least ask nicer", to which I replied "I do ask nice the first 10 times"! I do not enjoy bitching at them. I want them to be like the washing machine or the dishwasher -- put in some effort, then let there be a period of AUTO -- I don't enjoy hand washing.
D. And while this should probably be the first thing that comes to mind, but isn't, I really do want them to be all that they can be -- explore, learn, challenge, try things on, discover their gifts --
All the while, still being children who laugh, love, and play.
I am resigned to the certainty that they will wind up on a therapist's couch one day, blaming me for everything. So I keep a journal (with pictures) of my side of the story and remember Mark Twain's take on his father: "When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in 7 years!" I remember how shocked I was when my own father told me that when I was in my early twenties, I was a real pain in the ass. His complete absence in my life from ages 7-17, by the way, combined with no brothers, exacerbates my inability to understand males in general. I make sure my journal also contains all the good stuff, including how this is the coolest thing I've done with my life so far -- being their Mother.
This is my daily meditation: One part Buddha and the second truth: "rather than constantly struggling to get what you want, try to modify your warning" , one part AA (where I haven't been and probably need) - accept what you cannot change. And when that fails, I wish my life away and covet the day they marry their Mother and some bossy bitch takes over for me.
But if only had one wish, I'd trade it all for them to become Good Men, and I consider myself the poster child for Silverstein and Rashbaum's book on the subject (Courage to Raise Good Men). I want them to be kind and considerate, especially of those less fortunate than them. I want them to leave things better than they found them. I want them to be givers; not takers. And if that isn't enough, since one of THE THINGS is that the measure of it all is what we do in the face of adversity -- (it's easy to be good when everything is going our way and there is enough of everything to go around and we feel good and everyone agrees )I want young men who will rise to the occasion when tested.
Every so often, in the middle of my disproportionate worrying, I get a reality check with something as subtle as one of their friends doing all this and failing school to something as obvious and profound as Sandy Hook. The day of the shootings was a Friday when the boys normally bring home their gym clothes from the week and I don my version of a Hazmat suit of gloves, mask and can of Lysol spray to deal with them. That evening, when I thought I couldn't cry anymore for these families, I buried my face in their filthy, smelly clothes, knowing what each one of those parents wouldn't give for that sweet smell. And for awhile, I keep things in perspective. Then, for the same reason women have more than one child . . . I forget.
I know the storms of adolescence will pass, but I think I worry that the "molding" time is lost, and they have taken on the final form, if not etched in stone. I worry this is as good as it gets. And I read this again and remember I'm not molding at all
On Children
Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
This is my daily meditation: One part Buddha and the second truth: "rather than constantly struggling to get what you want, try to modify your warning" , one part AA (where I haven't been and probably need) - accept what you cannot change. And when that fails, I wish my life away and covet the day they marry their Mother and some bossy bitch takes over for me.
