I've Had It Up to Here with Teenagers (17 page)

I enjoyed watching my sons and later my daughter head out to their first dances in middle school. It was good practice. My daughter and her friends got together and preened in their party dresses. My boys donned freshly pressed slacks and button-down shirts and actually began to enjoy dressing up at that age. Corsages and boutonnieres were exchanged. Pictures were taken by beaming parents. The biggest question for sweaty-palmed boys was, “Will she say yes to a slow dance with me?” The biggest question for girls was, “What if nobody asks me to dance?” The good news these days is that girls often dance with one another, and big groups seem happy to take to the dance floor together.

Nothing quite prepares you for seeing your son or daughter clasped in the arms of a person of the opposite sex. It takes your breath away, literally. It's a bittersweet moment, one of those times you are reminded that this young person does not belong to you forever. That's how I felt, at least. I have a friend who chaperoned a dance with me and excused herself to go throw up. What can I say? You feel what you feel. When you actually see your son or daughter lock lips with a date, it's something else, let me tell you. It scrambles your brain for a few minutes.

When my boys started dating, I worried about everything. Would girls break their hearts? Would one of them break some girl's heart? Would they know how to behave in new, coed situations? Occasionally, I overheard in the car or when their friends came over (they almost never volunteer any love-life information to this day) that my boys were “going with” some girl or other. The
names of the girls changed on a regular basis. There was obviously no real emotional investment. Gradually, I realized that those crushes were just part of the learning curve. My boys never actually went anywhere with the girls they were “going with.” They rarely spoke to one another on the telephone or over the computer.

One day when I was sitting on the screened-in porch with one of my sons, I recognized his most recent crush jogging by our house with her father. “Isn't that So-and-so?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he responded.

“Aren't you even going to speak to her?” I prodded.

“I'll see her tomorrow in school,” he said.

“If I were a girl, that would hurt my feelings!” I said, baffled.

“You are a girl, Mom. You're just an old girl.”

“Don't change the subject. You know what I mean,” I said.

All in all, those years were a whole lot of nothing. They were good practice, though, for high school.

High-school dating is a different kettle of fish entirely. Things have changed a lot since I was in high school. Teenagers generally travel in packs nowadays. You don't see as much one-on-one dating. I kind of like that. It's hard to get into trouble in front of a big group of friends. There's safety in numbers, and I mean that in all the ways that you can think of and probably a few more that you can't if you don't yet have teenagers.

One reason kids don't date as much as they used to is because it is so darn expensive. Taking a girl to a movie is a forty-dollar evening these days. Tickets are nearly ten bucks each. Two small drinks and popcorn, and those boys are looking at dropping half a month's allowance in one night. That's pretty steep. One of my boys came home after one of his first dates outraged that his companion for the evening “ordered the most expensive thing on the menu!” Another reason you see kids going out in big groups is that
it allows those who are self-confident to smooth the way for their friends who are a bit shy around members of the opposite sex. That's kind, I think.

Eventually, of course, one of your children falls in love. It happens to everyone with reassuring regularity. All the classic signs appear. It's more than a crush. You can see it's the real deal, at least for the moment. From a parent's point of view, it's a whole new ball game. You have to bite your tongue to keep from spouting constant dire warnings like some Greek oracle of doom and gloom. As an adult, you can see the inevitable heartbreak on the horizon, but you can't protect your teenager from the experience. It's all part of growing up.

No one is more irritating to take on a family vacation than a teenager in love. At that moment in time, blood ties mean nothing. No one is more important in that teen's world than the girlfriend or boyfriend who is being left behind. There's nothing quite like spending a small fortune on a family getaway only to have your lovelorn teenager mope through the week. The good news is that love interests wax and wane. As a parent, it's best not to get too involved. You don't want to know too much about who “likes” whom. It's not your business. Plus, the cast of characters is constantly changing like something out of the Swinging Sixties. My motto: be nice to all of them. You never know who may end up with their feet under your table at Thanksgiving dinner. Your future sons-and daughters-in-law are out there somewhere right now. Think about that. I sure hope their parents are doing a good job. Somebody else's kids are going to be my grandchildren's parents! That's the kind of thought that keeps me up at night.

On the outside, teenagers look a lot more sophisticated these
days. I don't know if it's the new dermatology drugs, better vitamins, or exposure to a world of information through the Internet, but the girls my boys date look like college-aged beauties. I've seen them in prom dresses that cost more than my entire winter wardrobe. I've watched seventeen-year-old girls stride confidently on three-inch heels that would toss me into a flower bed in mere seconds. Prom night is an extravaganza that rivals wedding-party events. There are limousines, major photography sessions, expensive dinners, breakfasts afterward, and expensive formal wear. If you're the parent of a boy in this scenario, let's just say you're in for big bucks. I'm looking forward to being on the girl end of that evening with my daughter!

When I was my daughter's age, I looked like it. We wore knee socks and loafers, and I had bushy caterpillar eyebrows. It could have been worse. I had a friend who looked like she was growing a handlebar mustache. Back then, I had never heard of anyone who had her eyebrows or upper lip waxed, but as a brunette with porcelain-pale skin, I sure could have used some salon help. Not many girls wore makeup or nail polish either, and if they did, it was inexpertly applied and a little daring. I was a full-grown woman before I ever had a manicure or pedicure. Now, little girls do that at birthday parties!

Times have changed. Human nature has not. Boys like girls. Girls like boys. Occasionally, boys like boys and girls like girls. It can get confusing. These days, I feel like a professional chaperon. It's a big part of my current job description. “All your friends are welcome in our house,” I tell my teenagers, but when we entertain boys and girls together, we observe some general rules of decorum.

1. No sitting around in the dark. Leave a light on, please.

2. Couples will remain upright on couches and chairs. No reclining.

3. My husband and I will make periodic passes through the living room, basement, porch, and any other areas where teenagers congregate, just to keep everyone on the up-and-up.

Teenagers in my house are under my supervision, so I feel free to offer correction on an as-needed basis. I try to be nice about it. In exchange, I offer unlimited soft drinks, pizza, and other snacks. I also promise to make my evening patrols mere drive-bys. I speak politely to my kids' friends, indulge in a few minutes of chitchat, and then go about my business. I genuinely try not to embarrass anyone. That is sometimes hard. By the time midnight rolls around, I'm exhausted and ready for bed. I'm sporting mismatched sweats and T-shirt, and I've usually washed the makeup off my face and substituted my out-of-date glasses for contacts. I can be quite a vision of beauty when I come down those stairs to “do laundry” at eleven o'clock at night. I also ask that all children who enter and leave my home greet me or my husband and tell us they are leaving, so that we know who is actually on the premises. Nothing is more embarrassing than when a parent calls and asks, “Is So-and-so there?” and I say, “No, haven't seen him tonight,” and then have to call back and report, “He's in my basement—I didn't know.” That does not make me a happy camper.

One day, I want to have those precious grandchildren I always hear so much about. The point is that I want them way, way down the line, after everyone is well educated and able to support themselves and their dependents.

Bottom line: I tell it like it is. I think that is the only way to live with teenagers without losing your mind. I often say, “I'm old and tired. I am not rearing any more children in this house! Got it?”

 

1.
Teen: “We broke up.”

Mom: “It would have been nice to know that before I ran into her mother at the grocery store.”

2.
Teen: “Try not to talk to my date too much while I finish getting dressed.”

Mom: “No problem. Would you prefer we sit in the living room in silence?”

3.
Teen: “I'm going to wait outside for my date to pick me up.”

Mom: “You are not a FedEx package. Your date must come to the door, knock, and be introduced.”

4.
Teen: “I like her a lot, but I can't stand her mother.”

Mom: “Just FYI, you probably wouldn't like her any better as a mother-in-law.”

5.
Teen: “She's really, really, really pretty.”

Mom: “I don't think you heard the question, son. I asked you what you like about her.”

6. Teen: “He is so cute! I can't just go up and talk to him!”

Mom: “So you're saying that if he were ugly you could talk to him without all the drama?”

7.
Teen: “We've been dating for six whole weeks!”

Mom: “I guess it's time to introduce him/her to all the cousins, then.”

8.
Teen: “I can't wear that on a date!”

Mom: “Why? Because it is tasteful and appropriate and you look charming in it?”

9.
Teen: “I can't get my hair cut right before the dance!”

Mom: “I see. Well groomed is bad, right?”

10.
Teen: “I don't want to go to the party with a date if you have to drive us.”

Mom: “Would you prefer to take a cab?”

Dear Reader,

You cannot believe everything you read. You've heard only one side of the epic
Parent v. Teenager
battle in this book: the mother's side,
my
mother's side. I know her pretty well. Believe me, she's not telling you everything. There's more to the story. You have to consider context. Since people my age have yet to gain a foothold in the world of publishing, I can only assume that angry teenagers are an under-represented demographic. With this is mind, I take personal satisfaction in writing a small rebuttal to this book-long harangue of my people. Obviously, my mom was on a tear in these pages. That's something to see in person, let me tell you. You do not want to be on the listening end of one of my mother's lectures when she's in a mood. It's best to apologize quickly. If you let her get a full head of steam, there's no stopping her, and you could be trapped for hours listening to her go on and on about the same old stuff.

First of all, I would like to express my shock and dismay at the amount of name-calling in my mother's most recent literary work. I note that she frequently uses nouns like
wretch, sneak, troll
, and
rodent
to describe the delightful children she gave birth to. I ask you, is that nice? I think that's actually preteen behavior, don't you? Very immature, Mother.

Although most of the unbelievably many gripes and grievances my mother writes about in this book are factually accurate, my counterarguments and those of my siblings are not given even token representation. I assure you that if we'd told you the same stories, we'd look a lot better in them.

Let me mention a few things about my mother. First of all, our household is proof that Kim Jong-il is on to something with that whole absolute dictator thing. Mama's rules are the law around here, and the rules are apparently subject to change with or without the approval of the actual state judicial representative who lives under the same roof. Our dad really is a judge, but he's not nearly as scary as Mom. The Bill of Rights means nothing in these walls. Censorship is tight. Verbal chastisement is constant. Punishments can consist of certain jobs that may fall under the category of biological terrorism (see the story about my cleaning the porch).

Think about this for a minute: adults always talk about wanting to relive their college days, but no one ever says they wish they could relive high school. I know why. Teenagers like me have no control over anything in our everyday lives. It's so frustrating! We don't get much sympathy either. In our world, every part of our day consists of situations where we are treated like inferior beings or second-class citizens, people who need to be bossed around. Teachers make us read about irrelevant and monotonous subjects whether we are interested in a career involving research on
electromagnetism or not. After school, coaches bark in our ears for three hours in the hot sun and give us orders in the rudest manner possible. When we come home, we are expected to be pleasant when our parents order us around in an even more hostile tone than the coaches! Excuse me, Mom, if I don't leap to put up the clothes that seem pretty indifferent as to whether they are stored on the floor or in the dresser.

While I am on the subject of dictators and their orders, let me summarize my ideas about the way curfews are handled around here. Like communism, curfews are a good idea in principle, but the practice just manages to tick everyone off. Sometimes, two parents give different times to be home. They don't always check with each other. Parents often seem to forget the deal we made about the curfew before I left for the night, or they give vague, confusing instructions like, “Don't be home too late.” What does that mean? My parents may be getting Alzheimer's. They are
old
. I have an advantage in remembering exactly what was said in earlier conversations because my brain is still young and sharp.