I am the oldest of four children. My brother and sister, the twins, are five years younger, and I have 10 years on my youngest brother. The twins, now grandparents like me, brought up seven teenagers between them, and I am coping with one, so we can all attest to one thing—payback is a bitch!
When my sister was 14 she thought Mom was an idiot. I was 19 and knew Mom was an idiot. Mom often said girls were harder to raise than boys and that life would be so much simpler if you could place girls at 13 in suspended animation until they were 21. This is all due to that wonderful life-altering event that we ladies all experience known as menarche, when young girls’ hormones kick in and kick their parents’ keisters in a little game called “Name That Mood Swing.”
When you think about it, menarche is simply the other side of menopause. The only difference is that women in their middle years have better coping skills than youngsters who have no idea why their mothers and/or grandmothers can’t make up their minds about the thermostat. Are we too hot or too cold? Which is it, for God’s sake? Hey, it’s both, so get off our backs and get us some ice water and a blanket and chocolate!
While I am now enjoying these particular experiences, along with an adult-rated version of the mood swing game, I am also trying to raise an adult. This is an important point of parenting. We, as parents, are not raising children. We already have children. We are supposed to be raising adults, for that is what children become, and we should endeavor to raise good adults.
But before they become adults, children grow into teenagers, and herein lies the challenge. We have all been one, and, as I stated, payback is a bitch! I now understand that teenagers must be accepted for exactly what they are—a punishment from God.
I love my Briteen grandson, and this is what makes parenting him so hard. There are times when I think that kid is one in a million, and other times I think that he was won in a raffle. The boy has soft dark eyes that are my kryptonite, and he knows it! One pleading look is all it ever took to get me to spring for yet another Spider-Man T-shirt. Now, his T-shirts have skateboard or soccer team logos, and I have to summon all of my grandma superpowers to resist that kryptonite gaze.
This becomes easier when he resorts to other forms of teenage communication. I decided to observe him closely and study these not-so-subtle yet hard-to-decipher cues, and this is what I have learned. At age 13 children go through what people tell me is “a phase.” Everyone from friends to family members, including my mother (the ultimate final word) say, “It’s just a phase. It will pass.” So does gas, but that doesn’t make it any less painful while waiting it out!
Teens at this stage of development use a lot of non-verbal communication. One of The Briteen’s favorite ways of letting my husband, The Brit, and me know what complete idiots we are is by rolling his eyes. This can be followed by the utterance of a word that used to never bother me: “whatever.”
This is when I must deploy those grandma superpowers to resist tearing out those soft dark eyes and making trigger point massage roller balls out of them to alleviate my stress.
Worse than eye rolling is when he averts his eyes, shrugs, and slumps his shoulders. This can mean many things, and the problem is figuring out what that is. It can mean he’s feeling down or annoyed, angry, tired, bored, or he’s relaxed and just hanging out.
“What’ the matter?” I’ll ask.
“Nothing,” The Briteen replies.
“You look down. Is something wrong?” I’ll gently press.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he insists.
Concerned, I try once more. “You’d tell me if something is bothering you, right?”
“Yessss!” he hisses back at me as his eyes roll upward.
“Is something bothering you?” Now I’m just pressing my luck.
“Oh my God, Grandma! Nothing is wrong, I’m fine! At least I was until you kept bugging me!”
OK. Now I know what’s going on. He is annoyed. Specifically, he is annoyed with me.
I have discovered the one way to get a focused response out of my child. Threaten to embarrass him. The Briteen is a very good soccer player, and I’m not just bragging. It’s the truth. When practicing, he often brings two to three balls to the field, so I offered to make him something to carry them in.
“Would you like me to make you a ball sack for your balls?” I smiled innocently while driving him to school one morning.
“Really, Grandma?” His eyes rolled.
“Really, Lovey! And I’ll never let you forget and leave it behind,” I chuckled. “If you ever do, I’ll just grab it and run out onto the soccer field calling out to you, ‘Sweetheart! Don’t forget your ball sack! You need your balls to play!’” I was really enjoying this!
His response was immediate and explosive. “Grandma, so help me, if you ever do that I will be on television because I will have to kill you!” I barely heard him, though, as we both dissolved in laughter.
Later that evening, our young gentleman used one of my favorite non-verbal gestures. He brought each of us a hot cup of tea, kissed my husband and me, and leaned on my shoulder as we cuddled the way we used to when he was small. I have never had any problem deciphering this. Simply put, it means “I still need you, and I love you.”
“I love you, too, Sweetheart,” I whispered. He smiled at me and nothing more needed to be said.
Ariel Waterman is bracing for the next “phase,” high school. Send her ice water, a blanket, and chocolate via her editor at clanham@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in May 28 – Jun 4, 2015.
