FSB Author Article
The
Rollercoaster (or How To Survive The Teenage Years)
By Elizabeth
Flock,
Author of Sleepwalking in
Daylight
I stormed
out of the house in the freezing cold with my husband's wool coat
thrown over my pajamas looking like a Disney character with long
floppy coat arms at my sides and fluffy slippers that I was sorry I'd
worn. They didn't see me standing squarely in front of the
car. I positioned myself like that guy who stopped the tanks in
Tiananmen Square and I slapped both of my hands on the hood, still
warm because he'd only just brought her home from the date.
Late. Past curfew. Way past curfew. Before I turn
back to the house, I see the shock on their faces. Actually,
hers was a look of horror -- not that she'd been busted but that I
was standing there like a mad-woman in front of her precious
boyfriend and god forbid I do anything to embarrass her. This
was, even I knew, over
the top. I fumed back up the walk to the kitchen, where I
waited for the showdown.
What she didn't know was that my
stomach was as knotted as hers. When she came in moments later,
her chin red from making out with her boyfriend, I felt a wave of
nausea at what I knew was to come. But, thankfully, I could
tell from her footsteps toward me that she had chosen the right tack
to take. Her feet moved sheepishly. Scuffling. Slowly.
Her boyfriend must have told her she couldn't win this one. On
his advice she was
doing the right thing. I knew it wasn't the lectures we'd given
her on the rules of the house or making smart choices.
That
was one of dozens of similar nights with similar fights over similar
infractions. Because that's a teenager's job: to infuriate an
adult is duty number one. And a parent's job is to let them do
it. A parent's job, I learned, is to be the brick wall the
teenager can push up against. A parent's job is to be unpopular
sometimes. And it's hard to be unpopular.
Raising a
teenager is one of the toughest things you can do and if someone
tells you different they're either lying or they're sitting ducks for
what is to inevitably come their way later on. But it's like
chicken pox: better to get all this over with when they're young.
Hunker down and let them rage. But not for too long. Let
them fight. But not too hard or physically -- ever. Let
them test you. Over and over again until you think they might
be brain dead because what else could explain why they can't seem to
remember the simple basic tenants you've outlined for them.
My situation was not the classic one. I am a
step-mother and so I parented my eldest step-daughter with one arm
tied behind my back. My husband -- like many fathers sweet on
their little girls -- was reticent to step in and confront his
daughter. He didn't want to drive her away, he said. Be
that way, I said. And at the time I
thought I'd drawn the short stick. I thought he was the lucky
one, dodging these knock-down-drag-outs. The trick was (and is)
to stay on top of it all. Back in the day combating teenage
drinking meant locking the liquor cabinet but now we also have to
lock up our prescription medicine (and ask other parents to do the
same). Yes, it's a different world now and it's a great one.
But along with greatness comes responsibility.
Our girl was a
straight-A student (to be fair, her grades never dropped but that's
not really the point here), a girl whose face would fall if she
thought she'd done anything to disappoint us. We never had to
come down on her -- she was always tougher on herself than we could
have been on her.
Fast forward and there I was one night,
sniffing like a bloodhound for traces of alcohol or beer or, god
forbid, cigarettes. I'd have rather had her smoke pot than
cigarettes. I still feel that way. Here's a sample of my
nights back then:
"I didn't have anything to drink, I
swear!" Really?"One sip, I swear!" Uh-huh.
"I
couldn't get anyone to bring me home until just now that's why I'm
late!" Really. Huh."I couldn't call you because my
cell ran out of battery." Yeah, right. Since when
does a teenager let their cell battery die out -- it's their lifeline
for God's sake!
"I swear to God, Amie borrowed my purse
tonight -- those are her cigarettes not mine, swear to God!"
Really?!"My hair and clothes smell like smoke because I was
standing next to her all night."
It's hard to remember
that it's only natural. It's normal for them to act this way.
Yes, it's sometimes impossible to believe this lying, moody,
hormonal, angry child was your baby not long ago.
But
you have to sniff and look at pupils, take away car keys, confiscate
cell phones and SIM cards. It's a battle. I fought it and
you know what I realized along the way?
I was the lucky one.
I hadn't drawn the short stick after all. My step-daughter
learned more than how to follow rules. She learned that no
matter how much she drank or yelled or smoked or broke curfew, I was
not budging. I wasn't going anywhere. Ever.
One night,
years after she graduated from college, we stayed up late talking.
Then, just like that, like it wasn't a bombshell, she said the words
I thought I'd have to wait decades to hear:
"I just want
to thank you for hanging in there with me during the whole high
school thing. I made it really hard for you but you hung in
there. And I really appreciate it."
Yes, she
tried to break me. She tested my patience at every turn.
And I almost buckled. There were a million times I said to
myself it'd be easier to crawl into bed alongside my sleeping
husband, put my pillow over my head and pretend a little girl wasn't
crying out for help. As a step-parent I knew I had a built-in
parachute clause. But there is no"step" when it comes
to teenagedom. You're either on the roller coaster or you're
off. There's no in between. I wish I could tell you it'll
be a smooth ride but it won't be. Not if you do it right.
I strapped myself in for the ride. And you know what?
I
loved that ride.
Copyright ©
2009 Elizabeth Flock author of Sleepwalking
in Daylight
Author
Bio
Elizabeth Flock, author of Sleepwalking
in Daylight, is a former journalist who reported for Time
and People magazines and worked as an on-air correspondent for
CBS before becoming a full-time writer. The New York Times
bestselling author of But Inside I'm Screaming, Everything
Must Go and Me & Emma -- a Book Sense Notable title
and Highlight Pick of the Year -- Elizabeth hails from Connecticut
and currently lives in New York City. For more information, please
visit http://www.elizabethflock.com/.