THE BELIEVER
To believe this story you've got to believe that I'm a believer. Not just a believer. I'm a believer's believer. I put my wisdom teeth under the pillow for the tooth fairy. I've got a drawer full of deeds to the Brooklyn bridge and seaside property in Florida just waiting for the tide to go out far enough. I believe in 90 day warranties on plastic toys and that someday we'll pay off the national debt.
So maybe you can see why I believed that raising a teenage son would be just more of the same things we had done together since he was a kid; hikes, and talks, and jokes, good times and an occasional stern word or two to impress some important lesson on him, and then we'd both forget what the lesson was supposed to be about.
I couldn't see any reason why we couldn't just nudge each other and poke each other right through those tough teenage years they talk about. More funnies, more good times. I had it all pictured in my mind.
Enter my son the sphynx. Mr Teenage Trapshut. The unknown quantity. My good buddy turned into an alien from the forbidden land of the monosyllables.
"Hey there! How's everything?"
"OK."
"School going alright for you?"
(shrug)
"Done anything fun lately?"
"Nope."
"How was the movie last night?"
"So so."
"It's too bad your sister's been arrested for plotting to overthrow the government, Mom's come down with beri-beri, and we found out the orange juice we had for breakfast was really battery acid."
"Uh huh."
They say a teenagers voice changes. Let me tell you it does. It changes into the sound of silence.
HANGING ON
After we had him checked out for amnesia and lockjaw, his mother and I were just about to start studying sign language when one day we saw a thing in the newspaper. It said something about hanging on because teenagers go through a lot of pressures trying to grow up.
It didn't see we had much choice, so we hung on. It helped us to remember that he really was a good kid. We knew that, so we figured he must be going through some kind of natural phase. "Hang on!" It wasn't easy.
I said he turned into a teenage tight-lip, but that was just with his mother and me. He couldn't say boo to us, but the telephone grew to the side of his head. Hours on end he and his friends had to discuss vital issues like did the sun come up this morning. And trying to decide what to do and when. Not that it really mattered. By the time they put their skiing party together it was spring.
I could go on, but if you haven't had a teenager you wouldn't believe it, and if you have you know already.
But like I said, I am a believer and I believed that somewhere somebody must have the answers. Why did our cuddly cub scout, our loveably little leaguer, turn into the weirdo of the world?
A FEW ANSWERS
I began to pick up a few answers here and there. For one thing I found out why it used to be easier for us to talk together. In those days I was his big dad; he was our little guy. But now I noticed (perceptive parent that I had become) that I was looking almost eye to eye with him and his mother was looking up. So how does he respond, like a big boy or a young man? Until he can figure it all out he's a little reluctant to commit himself.
Even his hollow-eyed staring and moping around were good for something so the experts tell me. They say he was day-dreaming. That wasn't exactly news, but it was more than moping they said. He was mentally trying on new roles to see how they would fit, searching out in his mind and imagination the kind of person he wanted to be.
And those long drawn-out discussions with his friends on the telephone, or out by the car - those interminable debates and discussions that made the United Nations General Assembly look like a pep rally by comparison - these were useful too, they said. What they called "getting consensual approval" for what he is going to do and say. Then he and his friends could reinforce each other's ideas and and words so that they could tread the new no man's land of adulthood together with a little more safety in their numbers. There was a lot more good stuff I got from the experts about what our boy was going through and why he was doing what he was doing.
SIMPLE THOUGHT
But the greatest revelation I got from all the reading I did was this simple but profound thought. Whether my son spoke to me or not didn't change the fact that I could speak to him. Even if it was just a one-way communication, at least he'd know how I felt. And I felt that this would keep the channels open so that he would always know that I would be there if he needed me. So one day I went to him and said "Dan," (he doesn't like me to call him Danny anymore) I said "I know a little about what you are going through. I know that times have changed since the days of the dinosaurs when I was a teenager. Some things are the same, and of course, some things are different. But I just want you to know that I know you can do it, that I love you and that I have confidence in you, and that by golly, I believe in you!"
Things have gotten a lot better around our house. And you want to know something? We're going to make it! I know we are because, like I said, I'm a believer!
by Duane E Hiatt
Father of 13 children - ten sons and three daughters
Chairman of the Communications Department
Division of Continuing Education
Brigham Young University
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