I recently read an essay in The New York Times that talked about how to manage teenagers. (Actually, it was more a reflection on how to survive teenagers.) The author and mother of two teen boys, Jessica Lahey, quoted Dr. Laurence Steinberg from his book Age of Opportunity: Lessons From the New Science of Adolescence ...
"Protect when you must, but permit when you can."
I have mixed feelings about these words.
On the one hand, I agree with them. In theory and wholeheartedly. On the other hand, I'm having a tremendously difficult time adhering to them. Because, in real life is nothing like in theory.
Protect and permit mean different things to my teenage daughter and to myself. Where I may see myself protecting her, she sees me not permitting something that in her mind holds no danger whatsoever. She struggles against the boundaries I've set. I struggle to let her go.
We do agree on one thing though ... this SUCKS!
She's seventeen, so she no longer feels the need to ask if she can do something with her friends. She simply announces it. Then, if her plans change, she doesn't feel the need to give us an update. Is she safe? Probably. But, couldn't she call or send a quick text to tell us where they actually are now instead of where we thought they were then?
Apparently not.
We've never enforced a curfew per se, because she was never out late without us unless we knew exactly where and with whom. Suddenly all bets are off, and I'm sorry I wasn't stricter when I didn't need to be because it's proving very difficult to create rules now.
This is her junior year of high school. (Supposedly, this one "really counts." All right, can we please send a great big collective "F*ck you!" to whoever said that? Way to add undue pressure to the pressure cooker we're already living in here.) I've tried to leave her to her own academic devices. I haven't nagged or micromanaged studying and homework. She would disagree, of course, but I've truly cut back dramatically. At what point, then, am I allowed to check on grades and course correct if needed?
I'll say it again. This SUCKS.
My job, as I see it, is not to be her friend. Not to permit all the time. And, in fairness, I permit much much (much much) more than she gives me credit for. Really, my job is to help her succeed. To help her do her best and become the best version of her possible. To help her embrace the values that I believe are important for her to lead a happy, productive life. This doesn't make me very popular. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.
And in the protect and permit dichotomy, I seem to inspire a lot of resentment for the first and no credit whatsoever for the second.
Rock ... me ... hard place.
She doesn't believe me, but I would much rather see her smiling all the time. I don't actually enjoy lecturing or picking fights or upholding consequences.
She also doesn't believe me, but I have enormous faith in her. I'm so proud of her so much of the time. I believe that she can accomplish great things. And, I believe that part of my job is to enable her to do so. Sometimes, that means permitting her to do things she wants to do.
But, sometimes it means protecting her. Not just from things that go bump in the night, but from making short-term mistakes that might have long-term ramifications.
These days, it gets harder and harder to be her friend. For now, I'll just have to settle for being her mother.
I'll be her friend again — and gladly — whenever she's ready.
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Our Saturdays have just changed forever.
Typically, either my husband or I get up early to drive our teenage daughter to her work-study job at the stable. If it's my turn, I then go right to the Y for a Zumba class and my husband sleeps in. If it's his turn, I go to the Y for a Zumba class; he returns, goes back to bed and sleeps in. (Anyone notice a pattern?)
This has been the routine for a number of years, interrupted only by family vacations, the swine flu, major holidays, and PSATs.
This past Saturday morning, my darling daughter ate a quicker-than-usual breakfast, grabbed her permit and glasses, kissed us good-bye, and raced outside. An instructor from her driving school was waiting by the curb with a couple of other hopeful 16 1/2 year-olds. It was the day they had all been waiting for ... the road test! Within hours, their license dreams would be realized. Or, they would return in shame.
Despite 30 hours of classes, 12 hours of instruction, 6 hours of observation, and seemingly countless hours of practice, my girl was nervous. This was something new. Of course, I was practically frantic. This, however, was not new.
To be perfectly honest, I had conflicted feelings. Should I hope for success for her sake? Or cross my fingers that she would fail, thereby enabling me to retain my position as chauffeur and protector? I compromised, praying silently "Please let her stay safe." I figured someone upstairs would interpret that for us.
It would be a while, so I went to my class and came back to do some writing. My husband saw the text first ...
PASSED!!!!
Within the hour, she bounded in, beaming head to toe. I swallowed my panic and congratulated her. 'Turns out, she didn't just pass the test. As her instructor told her on the way home, she "Killed it!" Here's what the inspector had to say:
"Are you a professional driver?"
"No."
"Are either of your parents professional drivers?"
"No."
"Well, I've never had anyone do such a clean, efficient test before. Well done."
My daughter's performance on tests has always been important to me (just ask her). So, this should make me very happy, right? Well, yes and no. I'm very proud of her. But, I'm still a bit of a basket case over this whole thing.
My daughter on the other hand is thrilled. She loves to drive, and she equates having her own license with unlimited trips to and time at the stable with her beloved horse. This is more perception than reality. She still has to put schoolwork first. And, it's not as though I said "No, I won't take you" very often.
More than anything, I think having a license makes her feel she is finally growing up. It's freedom. And, I just have to get used to it — suddenly, my heart is not just walking around outside my body. It's driving away.
As soon as she had lunch (her appetite miraculously returned once the test was behind her), my daughter borrowed the keys to one of our cars and headed off. There were conditions: cell phone in the glove compartment, ringer off; a text when she arrived at her destination; another when she was ready to head home. Most of all, I implored her "Please be very very careful." To her credit, she didn't groan or roll her eyes. She promised that she would be and happily left.
To my credit, I managed somehow to breathe for the next three hours until she was safely back again.
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