Teen Time

Our parish hall is currently the home of a small collection box for donations of children's clothing for a community service project of a local Girl Scout troop. With a sixteen year old daughter and a twelve year old son, it occurred to me today that I am nearing the end of the time of having on hand lots of kids clothing to pass along. Even without my contribution the box was nearly full the first Sunday it was there because there are lots of families at St. James for whom outgrown clothing is still a constant byproduct.

To not have piles of outgrown children's clothing seems an unexpected and strange milestone. I have had 16 years of always having items to pass on and suddenly my source is drying up. Yesterday I found a few Valentine cards on the kitchen table that fell out of my son's book bag. Until I saw them it had not occurred to me that this was the first year in a very long time that I didn't need to buy packages of Valentine cards for his classmates. Of course, the cards I found were from female classmates . . . some opportunities simply can't be passed up. Last fall there were no Halloween costumes to make or buy, no walking the cold, dark streets in late fall to trick or treat. And Santa's load was considerably lighter as well. Its part of the realization of a passing part of one's life for which a variety of mixed feelings seep through the mundaneness of things taken for granted. In two years I'll be sending my firstborn off to college. Next year the youngest begins high school.

I'm not altogether saddened by the passing of these things since I really love the current ages of my children. Quite honestly, I'm a better parent of teenagers. Outgrown friendships replace outgrown clothing. A broken heart replaces a broken toy. A lost friendship replaces a misplaced stuffy. The moaning of boredom replaces the whining of hungry and tired. My kids are discovering what it means to be rejected, betrayed, used, disliked - even hated, ignored and emotionally injured far sooner than I'd ever have imagined. There is no comparison of their youth with mine.

Some years ago a mother of teens that I respected very much told me: "You think your children need you when they're small, and they do. They depend on you for their every need. But when they really need you is when they're older." This woman felt so committed to this belief she quit her job to be home more often with her two teens (were it possible for all of us to be able to do this...). She stressed the best opportunities to connect with teens: the moment they walk in the door from school - while they're eating you out of house and home - as you're just sitting around gently inquiring and listening to what happened in their day. She said she was always amazed at what they'll tell you if you during this brief open window in teen time. Car rides were another favorite open opportunity for rich conversation. I've also added bedtime chats to that list. The hardest part is figuring out how to respond to the information I am given. Let's just say that these are not conversations I would have had with my mother, not even now. Like I said, comparisons to my teen years cannot be made, 'cause there are none.

So while I vaguely miss having hand-me-downs and filling out dozens of ittsy-bittsy Valentine's cards with various and odd spellings of the names of classmates, I mourn the day that my kids no longer come home from school and fill my life with opportunities to lovingly guide them into adulthood.