There it was, a desperate young face leaning into my space. A barrier of fear and determination falls down over the rigid figure. Words spat out, their arrow-like design piercing through the outer layer of my maturity. They were perfect shots that landed directly on the buttons that they were intended to press.
Juice rose into my throat and sprang up into my eyes which remained open, along with my mouth. A cluster of words pushed back a rebuttal. And then silence.
An unemotional voice in my head advised me then and there that the mysteries, desires, emotions, and fear of teenagehood had now firmly arrived.
Just how does one survive outside of using the redundant words you swore you'd never use?
“Don’t do as I do .. do as I say”
“I am your mother come what may”
“This is my house and while you are under my roof …”
“You are grounded”
And on and on .. the drone of overused parental phrases.
Then there is the sympathetic sage advice and wisdom from those who surround them. The passive observers or "caring" friends who again rely on meaningless phrases to cut short any semblance of real understanding:
“If they were my children I’d ..”
“Don’t let yourself be bullied by them .. ”
“So what if they don’t like you for a while, there have to be consequences .. ”
And on and on .. the drone of non-descriptive verbal dismissals.
There must be a better compromise I said to myself as I sat alone to wonder. Perhaps to understand one has to put oneself right there with them. Indeed, as an observer of the current teenage environment, everything appears completely overwhelming. To stop and think about it for only a moment revealed a space in which friendship and love last but a minute. A space where loyalty and trust fade with the shade of the latest lipstick color. A place where words are condensed down into a few letters, and thumbs translate excitement and anguish at lightning speed. Is it any wonder I didn’t understand?
I have two more years before I graduate from the University of Parental Units with an Associate's Degree in Teenager Communication. There were no prerequisites, and the initial descriptions I read about this seven-year (self-paced) learning Course did little to prepare me. I attended many complimentary lectures and anger management sessions. I had learned that coping skills could not include artificial stimulants and that the Theory of Over-Reacting by Itsonly Natural has to be studied, understood, and then acted upon.
I will tell you that when I receive my graduate scroll it will ultimately confirm that this particular major is based primarily on practice, as opposed to dry parental theories. It will confirm that many of the most interesting and lofty concepts on teen-rearing have no bearing on the uniqueness of my own children. This being the case, I can surmise that I will not measure my own success by a diploma that will end up behind a frame that bears a .25c sticker on my yard sale table. Nor, will I go back over the years admonishing myself for why I didn't graduate with a Summa Cum Laude Degree. In fact, I will probably not have the time to ponder over my past Graduation, because I will be going for my Master's in Parental Relativity (The Golden Years)!
Until the next time, I remain, Merliz
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