Practically Adult

My son turned seventeen years old today. Practically adult, isn’t it?

My two sisters and I were obnoxious teenagers. We made our parents’ lives hell. Since my father was off travelling on business most of the time, my mother bore the brunt of our scorn.

When my kids were younger, I used to tell them that the moment they turned into obnoxious teenagers, I was immigrating to Australia. They could stay here in Luebeck under their father’s care. The prospect of being on the receiving line of teenage hatred, mortification, confusion, frustration, just did not appeal to me.

So far, I’ve yet to even make a preliminary search about Australian immigration requirements. Knock on wood, none of the anticipated emotional rages have occurred.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my son for sparing us the agony of uncontrollable mood swings. He’s always been such a gentle giant, and may he continue to be one for the rest of his long life. He shows compassion and intelligence towards people, like his parents, who possess a wide range of inadequacies.

He must have figured out early on, that only a pitiful person would taunt and tease us with delinquent behaviour. His father and I do not have strong enough constitutions for such game playing.

Actually, if there is one thing I’ve learnt over the years is that parenting is a continual process re-experiencing those difficult times of childhood. This time through, we have the advantage of age. Thus, when my child is weaning, then so am I. My child is learning not to be dependent on my breast. I am learning not to be dependent on my child being on my breast.

And now that my children are teenagers, I am learning all over again about what puberty is. If my son tells us we are treating him like a child, then we must learn to treat him like an adult. We have to get over the notion that we can stipulate what he does, when, and where. It is his choice to do something. We can ask politely, but that is all. That’s the deal.

I'm glad my son is the one teaching me the steps this time. My two older sisters, I am sorry to say, weren't the best of roll models the last time around. Though they were not responsible for my behaviour; I was creatively destructive all on my lonesome.

(That said… going through puberty again at fifty, while simultaneously going through menopause, can be a real strain. But this is a topic for another post.)