I'm sitting at a coffee shop. Listening to Of Mice And Men and Vance Joy. Drinking a caramel macchiato (the American Starbucks-y version, not the authentic one I hope to have when I grow up).
And writing a blog. That's a grown-up thing to do, right?
I'm supposed to be "working". Writing real stuff. Important stuff about pediatric root canals and geriatric dental issues and Prosthodontics, but I'm not.
Instead, I'm watching my first born sit with a group of 20-somethings discussing art with her favorite artist that she's been following on Instagram for a while. I'm in a corner, trying my best to not look creeper-ish, while in total awe and denial that my little girl is almost 17 and in her last year of high school. She has friends who are in their 20s. She has a real job. She makes to-do lists. Completes them. Then makes more lists. Then completes those. She bought her own vehicle. She pays for her own gas and insurance. She pays for her classes that she takes at the local university. I still haven't taught her anything. I think she's learned pretty much everything on her own.
She's better at adulting than me. Actually, I think she was born adulting. She's way beyond her years.
I'm 40 and I THINK I'm just now learning how to adult. Maybe.
I've also been in a little bit of a foggy place coming to grips with the fact that my middle child is 13 and in the throes of being a 13-year-old boy. He's handling it better than I am. He's a good kid. Kind. Respectful. Generous. Polite. Smart. Funny. And, if I'm being honest, he's becoming quite the handsome guy. He looks like his dad.
But, he acts like me.
Sometimes that's not so fun for me. Or, him. We clash on some things because we're both very strong personalities. That's not necessarily bad. It's just something we get to navigate and figure out how and when to concede and compromise. It's a process and a journey, for sure, but there isn't any other kid on the planet that I'd rather be on this road with. He's a good human. And, good humans do extraordinary things.
There's also the 10-year-old knower of all things interesting and trivial. He's an observer. He watches. And opines. He has a HUGE vocabulary and understands deeper things than a 10-year-old should. He's an old soul. He's a fan of gardening and 1000 piece puzzles and he's always cold. He's going to sit behind a computer some day and probably make a lot of zeros on his paychecks. He'll do smartical things and make the world smarter too.
People tell me that I have "good kids'. I do. Most of the time.
One woman, whom I deeply respect, told me on a Sunday at church that I have great kids. I told her to text me that on a random Thursday at 2 pm because I might need the reminder.
She did. The following Thursday at 2:04.
I needed the reminder.
Here's the thing. It's kind of a big thing. Or, maybe not, but whatever.
It's the thing about how teenagers are supposed to be angst ridden and disrespectful and terrible.
And, the other thing...The one about how we're not supposed to be their friends, just their parent.
Who made those rules? Why do we have to follow them? Why do otherwise respectful, kind, good kids have to become horrible hermity hooligans when they hit 13? Why do we as parents have to stop liking our kids and just start punishing and disciplining the spirit and passion out of them?
I'm by no means a childhood development expert. Not a psychologist. Not formally educated on the subject. So, my opinions and questions are exactly that. Opinions and questions.
The only school I've been trained in is the one I created by literally making my own students and test subjects. They have no clue that I'm making up the curricula as I go. Everyone is alive and for the most part, we all like each other, so I think we're doing pretty good.
We had conversations early on in pubescence that just because there's this unwritten rule that they had to be ridiculously rebellious teenage mutant creaturesque versions of themselves, that it didn't mean they had to follow it. One of them told me that if they were going to rebel, they might as well rebel against that. I'm on board with that kind of rebellion.
Some rules were meant to be broken. That's definitely one of them.
And, there's the other one about not being their friend. I broke that one too.
Please don't get me wrong. We have our DAYS. Holy Lord who created emotions and growing pains, do we have our days, but it's just that. A bad day. Sometimes, not even a day. Maybe a few hours. Or, a morning. It happens.
We yell. We scream. We cry. We let our words get away from us.
And slam doors. And cuss. And want to run away.
That last part is usually just me.
Then, we deal. We pray raw prayers. We apologize. We forgive. We move on.
We refuse to live there. Even if we camp out there over night, WE REFUSE TO LIVE THERE.
There's no reason to dig a pit to which you know you will go back and willingly hurl yourself into.
I'm not an expert. And, if you're still reading, I sure do wish that I could give you a cookie and some sort of drink or reward for letting me go on this long.
My take away from raising "good kids" so far is that good kids don't just happen. I cannot tell you how many conversations that I've had with their Creator about how He designed them and why on earth He thought that it was a good idea that I mom them. I fail. A whole stinkin' lot. If it wasn't for their dad being as close to Superman as non-super hero-ly possible and The Creator and Lover of their souls and mine, I'd probably be a staple on the nightly news. Prayer works, y'all. It does. We're all living proof of that.
Friendship and breaking the rules helps too.
Thank You, Tiny Infant Baby Jesus for growing up into a teenager who grew into a man whoso loved the world that He gave Himself. Help me help my kids grow into the teenagers that grow into revolutionaries that change the world. Their world. My world. And the world you gave them to play, live, and work in.
Amen.
What have been your experiences with your teenagers? What are your concerns? What are your victories? Failures? Advice?
Leave your stories in the comments.
