Tag Archives: teens

Hands On

morning sun in the treesOur younger child starts her senior year of high school next week. It starts the last year of a tradition for me, a rather touching tradition.

In 1992, when our son started school, I started putting my hand on his head and praying for him before he walked out of the house. It was a simple act. Touching my son, entrusting him to someone else.

It is an act of blessing. It lets our kids know, before they leave home, that I am aware of them, of the transition that is happening. It is an acknowledgment that that there is an in here and and out there, and that I am aware that I can’t go out there with them, but that I believe they are not alone.

I wish I could say that I was fully aware of the moment every one of the days that I was home on a school morning. I wasn’t. Many mornings it has been a habit, just something that we do. And yet, in the habit, in the ritual, I am reminded that somehow I need to overcome the frustration of the waking up process enough to touch our children.

For most of Hope’s high school years, I’ve been the one that has dropped her off. We’ve tried to remember to look each other in the eyes before she gets out of the vehicle. It’s one more piece of the blessing, seeing that, whatever else happens, we are not just passenger and driver, we are people who acknowledge each other.

A dozen years of school mornings. That’s a lot of touches.

One morning at a time.

by Jon Swanson

Photo graciously provided by MorBCN (de vacances), through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Driving And Letting Go

driver in convertible driving fast in a tunnelMy son is now a practicing driver, having recently passed the written test for his learner’s permit. He’s behind the wheel of a vehicle, a hunk of moving metal (weighing about four thousand pounds) that is traveling rapidly amongst other heavy, and moving, metal objects, which are all maneuvering around immovable objects. Pretty scare stuff.

Except not so much.

See, lately, as the kids get older, I’ve been learning to let go.

That isn’t to say that I haven’t been parenting. It’s just that I’ve been parenting from a distance – friend up close, but parent at a distance. I’ve been offering them advice, making suggestions, recommending the course of action I would choose. But I’ve also been letting them go out on their own and do whatever it is that they choose to do.

And with that letting go comes the more difficult choice for myself – the choice of being comfortable with letting go. To choose to trust them, to choose to trust in my own (and my wife’s) parenting skills.

Tough one. Especially when the boy who used to collect hundreds of Pokémon cards is now at the wheel of a Nissan Xterra, driving in Los Angeles traffic. Tough choice to make, to trust, to let go.

I’m doing it, no question. But it is pretty scary, like the peak of a roller coaster, when safety concerns flash through your mind as the rumbling becomes almost interminable. Sure, roller coasters are safe, but the fear is there nonetheless. And so, for me, when I become afraid because my son is going to face the masses of “I’m above using a turn signal” Los Angelenos, the trust is a choice I make by remembering that, up until now, he’s been pretty good about heeding our advice and, despite our large allowance of freedom, is in one piece. So when we get in the car, and he gets behind the wheel, I let go and enjoy the ride.

by Stu Mark

Photo graciously provided by exfordy, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Two Paths Diverged In A Yellow Wood

woman in wool hat and jacket looking at large stacked of balanced rocksWith apologies to Robert Frost, I find myself at a crossroads – My daughter is slowly turning into a teenager and I wrestle with this eternal question: Do I do my best to turn situations and experiences into learning sessions, or do I let her do what she wants and fully support it? Where’s the middle ground?

I’m sure there’s a middle ground somewhere, and I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep my parenting journey somewhere near the middle, but some things are harder than other. Her clothes, her hair, her friends, her television shows – no problem – I’m happy to leave her to her business, to smile and nod, to be supportive. But sometimes events occur or choices are made that give me this tremendous desire to teach a lesson – It’s like a maddening itch.

Now, I’m sure that a lot of the parents who are reading this understand and appreciate the desire to teach a lesson to their kids, to discuss the merits of a choice in order to improve their knowledge-base. There’s a lot of merit there.

But some parents tell me that I spend too much time in that area, as though the whole world is a classroom and that school is in session 365.256 days a year (approximately, given the particular year and method of measurement – see what I mean?). To those parents, I say this: I get it. It must be a real pain in the ass to live with my pedantry, with my insistence that knowledge is everything, that filling your brain to capacity is a moral imperative.

So that’s why I’m writing this, to ask you, good reader, to talk to me about this. Where is the balance? Is there a balance necessary? If so, should it be 50/50? 60/40?

by Stu Mark

Photo graciously provided by gilest, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Who Cares For Mine, I Love.

daughter driving car - seen in profile with sunglasses - hands on the steering wheelI moved to a new job in January. Because I work in a church, it meant that our family moved to a new church. Because the job isn’t far away, we didn’t have to move to a new house, nor did our daughter have to change schools. As a high school junior, that is a significant thing. However, changing church groups did loom large for her.

Apart from going with us on Sunday mornings, we didn’t require her to change. However, the fact that the groups met at different times meant that she could try the new place without giving up the old place.

After five months, it’s clear. She’s all in at the new place.

There have been many factors. With more kids, there is more room to have her own identity. With more opportunities for participation, she has been able to use the music skills she has in ways she never could before.

One other factor, however, has been very significant.

The adults.

The leader of the small group for junior class girls. The teachers. The staff members. Each has learned her name. Each has greeted her in the hallway, asked about her transition, celebrated her participation. In various ways, they have helped her with the transition.

It helps me understand something I heard at a conference several years ago.

A leader from another organization was speaking to our group. He didn’t need to, but he came and spoke and encouraged us and celebrated us. The reason he worked us into his schedule? His son was part of our group.

“Who cares for mine, I love.”

That a close paraphrase of what he said. What he meant was that if you take care of his child–encouraging, challenging, mentoring–then he is on your side and at your back. At the time, with our kids much younger, it didn’t register with me much. Now that I’ve been through this transition, I understand completely.

Susie and Jim and Phil and Dave and Laurie and Sarah and Kelley are high on my list. They have taken care of one of the most important people in my life. I would die for her. And they have cared for her.

Who are the people that are helping your kids? Not because they get paid for it (most of the names in that list don’t) but because they love to help? Do they have any clue that you are a raving fan of theirs?

Will they know by next week?

by Jon Swanson

Photo graciously provided by the author, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved