Teenagers (Scare the Living Shit Out Of Me)

Do you ever have one of those days where suddenly, the meaning of life takes shape right before your eyes? Where you finally feel, after so long of searching, that the rippling stream of purpose finally envelops you and welcomes you home? Today was that day.

The oldest of my offspring celebrated an early momentous birthday, marking the journey into teen-hood. For weeks and weeks I just kept thinking, “This can’t be right. They can’t be this old…I can’t be this old…” Not that there’s anything wrong with aging, as my mother-in-law and I discussed via text this evening. On the contrary, I’m quite grateful for each new day, each new opportunity to fill my lungs with oxygen, to slide my feet out of the warm, cozy blankets and onto our new cool, solid laminate floor. Each day is a gift. Yet, each gift we receive in life is not always our favorite. Some days will be good, some not so. But, aren’t all gifts good, in a sense?

As I awaited the party guests, my body jittered with adrenaline. How would it go? Parties are always difficult for my oldest. Will they enjoy being around several people at once? How will they feel if their best friend doesn’t show up?

You see, my child made a best friend this year that I’m not sure is actually a best friend. Middle School is tough. Some dynamics are hard to move between; especially for a child that has almost zero social skills. This was the real root of my anxiety. How will my child respond if their perceived bestie doesn’t show? I don’t know - but the scenarios in my head were not good.

Middle School is hard. It’s unrelenting. In my case, it was also lonely and isolating. Teenagers can be so cruel, indiscriminating, and heartless. For this, teenagers make me uneasy in the context of my own kids. As a mother, I always have this fierce instinct to protect them, to shield them from the worst of humanity. This is the age where I can do so no longer, and I feel defenseless. Helpless. Hopeless.

Anxiously, I awaited. I awaited them all. Slowly guests trickled in. Ten minutes went by. Twenty minutes. Three kids had shown up, all of which my child adores, but not his self-proclaimed ‘best’ friend. However, surprisingly, it didn’t seem to bother him much. Immediately the kids played, even if it was, a majority of the time, on iPads or Nintendos. Eventually, all of the kids came - except the bestie.

At one point, I looked around to see how my baby was doing - was he okay? Then I saw him, and he was happy, playing with his friends. All of them were happy, playing with one another. It dawned on me that maybe he was okay; maybe he was more than okay. Maybe it was me who was unhappy - anxious - terrified. Maybe it was my inner middle schooler who felt sad and unloved.

It clicked, and the stress floated away. A burden was lifted. The anxiety I felt for my child was misplaced, and the stress I felt within my inner child was released. It’s okay, because both of us are loved now, in this moment. This moment of healing.

And he truly is loved. As we sang to him toward the end of the party, I reflected on the group around us. It was small. Intimate. A lot of us already knew each other, a lot of us already friends. But one thing was certain; they all showed up for my boy. They all care about my boy. To me, that’s more important than anything.

Maybe the community I’ve been seeking has been under my nose all along. Home is something you cultivate, I’ve learned, after many years of trauma and heartbreak. Home is where the love is, and today there was love all around.

For years I’ve loved the idea of moving around, almost as a means of being able to travel with the kids and experience the world. But, as they get older I recognize they need stability. At one time we were the seed, blowing wherever the wind would take us. Next, the seedling - growing where we landed. Then, we were branches, reaching toward the heavens unknown. Leaves, little leaves, having individual, varied experiences of our own. Now, my little family finally needs planted roots. Deep, strong, weathering roots. Roots to ground. Roots to hold, when everything else blows away. Roots to remind us that we will always bloom again. Could this be the place to plant our roots? After all these years of being the wandering traveler, roots don’t seem half bad to me.

Still, the teenage years scare the shit out of me. I don’t know what to expect, other than tracing back to my own experience and - eek. But this day was a reminder that history doesn’t always repeat itself. That his experience doesn’t have to be my experience. And that, in fact, as of now - his experience has been so much more, infused with love and a celebration of his being. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I saw each of their bright, shining faces today. Laughing, yelling, talking, smiling. Each child so uniquely their own kind of spectacular. Pride filled me at knowing that these are the children my sweet child chooses to call friend, because each of them is quite astonishing. If these kids are any indication of humanity’s future, we might not be doomed after all.

*This post was delayed for the purpose of maintaining ambiguity.