I've Had It Up to Here with Teenagers (13 page)

“Nobody will be able to see them in my bag!” she wailed, as if I was somehow confused as to the purpose of shoes in general. She was clearly unwilling to be appeased.

“True,” I said, “but you'll know they're there, and you'll have them ready to wear after the service is over. You can put them on in the car.”

My daughter paused to consider her options. I continued wiping down the kitchen counter and let her. At one point, I saw her lips begin to jut out in a pout, and I knew she was contemplating throwing a full-scale tantrum, something absolutely not allowed in our household. She balled up her fists, opened her mouth, and took a deep gulp of air like she was preparing to let loose with a blood-curdling scream. I paused with the sponge and made eye contact with her. Not a flicker of a smile crossed my face. I did not utter a single word. I watched her face as she made her choice. She whirled around and stomped back to her room to change shoes.

“Wise decision,” I said to my daughter's three-year-old back.

I repeat: you can't argue with toddlers. You have to outsmart them. If you can't do that, you're not wily enough for the job. The same thing is true for teenagers. If you have kids and no backbone, I suggest you buck up fast. Kids can sense weakness from their bassinets. They can smell it on your breath like peanut M&Ms. They know instinctively how to weed you out from the herd and take you down.

Tantrums never worked at our house. I
never
rewarded a tantrum in any way, even if it was over something the kid was going to get anyway. I don't care if the kid was screaming for a vitamin. If a tantrum was involved, nothing would be forthcoming. Period. I'm convinced this is the reason my kids never went through the tantrum stage. They knew instinctively that it would be a waste of time. My parenting policy is to not give in to the demands of terrorists. I know that if I do, it will come back to bite me on my fat fanny at the most inconvenient moment.

One of my kids' friends tested this policy at our house one afternoon.

“Does she mean it?” the friend asked my son.

“She always means it,” he replied. “My mom doesn't bluff.”

He got that right.

We made it past the red-glitter-shoe stage. However, the clothing wars continue to this day. Each year brings new fashion challenges. Currently, the battle rages over Nike gym shorts my child would like to wear to every event she attends, whether they are appropriate attire or not. I understand that teaching children to dress for work, church, school, and social events is part of the parenting job description. Like so much of parenting, it isn't one bit of fun.

It didn't help that the last time I forced my child into appropriate piano-recital attire, a lazy parent sat right next to me with her kid dressed in hot-pink and lime-green Nike gym shorts. I wanted to smack her and her kid. My child skewered me with a glare that would have undoubtedly turned me to stone if she had known how to cast the spell. I ignored the look and sighed.

“You look beautiful,” I told my daughter.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn't want to look beautiful,” she said. “I wanted to wear my gym shorts.”

“She only wants to wear shorts these days!” the I-just-want-my-kid-to-be-happy parent leaned over and whispered in my ear. She shrugged her shoulders with a what-can-I-do-about-it gesture toward heaven.

You can do plenty
, I wanted to tell her, but I didn't. I just smiled politely. My job is to teach my kids to do the right thing, regardless of what other people do. I just wish other people wouldn't make my job so much harder than it has to be.

Boys are easy to dress. They wear little boys' sizes until they outgrow them, and then they wear men's sizes. Simple. Once they graduate to a blazer, khakis, and a dress shirt, that uniform stays the same for the rest of their lives. Add suits for work, a tuxedo,
and gray slacks, and men are good to go. My father, husband, and boys wear clothes that are remarkably similar. Sure, there are youthful distinctions. My sons look rakish in bow ties, but my husband can't pull it off. He would look like a cinched-up garbage bag in a bow tie. Some fashions, even for men, look best on young, triangle-shaped bodies. In general, however, the male wardrobe comes fairly standard.

Girls are another matter entirely. Since it is impossible to find clothes that fit me anymore, I thought it would be easy to clothe my teenage girl. Everything I try on seems more suited to her body and taste. Everything I see for sale seems to be cut for a teenage body, not one that has been stretched out to carry nine-pound babies. Every dress I try on is too short for me to bend over without revealing my granny panties. I assure you that sight would thrill no one. Don't even ask me what in the world has happened to women's T-shirts. I have no idea. They are now teeny-tiny. The cut is called “form-fitting.” Whose form? They look great on my size-zero daughter, but when I try them on, they cling lovingly to each of my fat rolls. This is not a good look for me or anyone else my age. Also, the T-shirts are so long! I'd need a torso like Uncle Sam to use up all that material. If I buy a unisex T-shirt, the neck strangles me and smashes my bosoms flat. This issue has just about worn me out. If you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them.

The biggest conflicts arise over clothing selection. Teenage girls are particularly sensitive to anything that makes them look like “babies.” Why are young people always in such a hurry to grow up? Comfort is not a priority. It's a fashion-first mentality. Since most designers sew for anorexic-looking six-foot-tall models, the average teenager has to adapt that look for the real world. This leads to arguments about dress and skirt length. Most schools
have a “fingertip” rule. No dress or skirt can be shorter than the student's fingertips when her arms are at her sides. You can't believe the unnatural ways girls will contort their bodies to convince their moms that the skirts they want to buy meet the school dress code requirements.

Other arguments sprout up over cleavage, bare shoulders, sheer v. opaque, and heel size. There is no end to the variations in girls' clothing, so naturally there is no end to the number of contentious fashion points to be negotiated for every social occasion. The selection of a prom dress has forced many a mother to bed with a bottle of Tylenol and an ice pack. Feathers have flown; shoes have been flung; doors have slammed; hairbrushes have banged. Fathers have been forced to toss both daughters and mothers over their shoulders to carry them off to their respective bedrooms for a cooling-off period.

I've already told my daughter that she is wearing my wedding dress when/if she marries. It was my mother's before me, and if it was good enough for both of us, it will be good enough for her. I don't care if she has to alter every stitch in it. If it's too short, we'll add a ruffle. If it's too long, we'll cut it off. Every girl's a sucker for the big meringue. It will be lovely, I promise. No way can we survive shopping for a wedding dress together. There isn't enough liquor in the whole wide world.

My boys are skilled at avoiding being drawn into fashion discussions between my daughter and me. They know better than to pick sides. They are determined to remain as neutral like Switzerland. When asked for their opinions, which may require them to look away from ESPN's
SportsCenter
for a few seconds, they mumble that they don't know which shoes look better. If pressed, they shrug and say, “They both look fine to me. Wear whichever
ones you like better.” This complete lack of interest usually results in a mother or sister flouncing off in a huff.

On a positive note, however, when a mom or sister gets an honest-to-God compliment from a son or brother in the household, it's the real deal. You can take it to the bank. When I came down the stairs recently dressed rather stylishly (for me) for a television interview, rather than in my customary sweatpants and Saints T-shirt, one of my sons stared at me with big, round eyes so long the Coke ran over the top of the glass he was filling, which is as fine a compliment as I have ever received.

“Wow, Mom, you look great … like a real person!”

“Thanks!” I said, resolving on the spot to bake that boy a pie.

I take my compliments where I can get them these days. They are few and far between. You can't be too picky if you're hoping for praise from a teenage boy and you're over the age of consent. In general, adult women are simply invisible to teenage boys.

When my daughter was a toddler, if she saw that my fingernails were polished, she immediately suspected I was leaving town for business or pleasure.

“You going to a hotel, Mommy?” she'd ask, holding my hand and examining my French manicure up close, one finger at a time. “I like hotels, too, Mommy! I want to swim in the pool,” she'd remind me in a wheedling voice.

In the scheme of scary, this-could-happen-to-me family scenarios like unplanned pregnancies, drug problems, failing grades, or criminal behavior, clothing clashes really aren't that big of a deal. I realize that. This doesn't mean, however, that a parent/teenager what-to-wear power struggle doesn't feel like the end of all civilized communication at the time. This, too, will pass. My grandmother used to tell me that when I was a teenager. It irritated me
then, and it irritates me now—which doesn't make it any less true.

Parenting teenagers is a life of triage. You have to accept that premise when your oldest child turns thirteen. Most importantly, you have to make sure your kids breathe in and out and their hearts continue to beat every single day. Sometimes, just the knowledge that they are alive and well is enough. In a world with so many dangers, asking for anything more sometimes seems greedy.

But when things are sailing along as smoothly as they ever do in a household with teens, I have opportunities to address lesser issues, too. I ask (some would say “interrogate”) my teens, “How are your classes going? Are you going to be able to support your family one day with those grades? What's going on with your friends? Do you realize how much your brother/sister loves you?” Eventually, all the big stuff gets handled—one way or another, for good or for ill. Then it's time to address the minutia.

My teenagers need to know things—like whether or not I will actually have a heart attack if my daughter wears flip-flops to her grandmother's funeral. “Count on it,” I tell her. It's hard to predict life with hormonal teenagers and a menopausal mother. It's a volatile mix. I might take those flip-flops off my child's feet and beat her over the head with them. Real life is full of risks. My teenagers have learned that life lesson well. They live in fear of Mom. I think that's a good thing.

 

1.
“If I have to wear that, I don't want to go!”

2.
“Do you want me to look like a nun?”

3.
“I'll be the only guy there in a coat and tie.”

4.
“If you pick it out, I probably won't like it.”

5.
“It's not too short.”

6.
“Everybody wears it like this.”

7.
“Nobody wears that anymore.”

8.
“I don't know how that hole got there.”

9.
“I left my jacket somewhere.”

10.
“Mom, what did you do with my ______?”

11.
“I don't have anything to wear!”

12.
“My swimsuit
is
pulled up.”

13.
“I like to wear it this way.”

14.
“You are so old-fashioned.”

15.
“Mom, what look are you going for with that outfit?”

 

T
eenagers genuinely believe they are immortal. If you have doubts about that, ask them yourself. Grab a random teenager from the nearest sidewalk. It doesn't have to be one of your own. He or she will tell you the same thing Dustin Hoffman tells Tom Cruise in the movie
Rain Man
: “I'm an excellent driver.” Of course, the next part of that quotation is also true. Hoffman's character, Raymond, adds, “Dad lets me drive slow on the driveway.”

Unfortunately, teenagers don't drive slowly on the driveway. They've moved past plastic coupes and battery-powered Jeeps and Barbie cars. That starting flag has been lowered—permanently. Teenagers drive real cars purchased with real cash. They fill those cars up with tank after tank of gasoline, which is like pouring liquid gold down the drain. Teenagers use more gas driving around doing nothing than any other group of humans on earth.
Go ahead. Ask your teenagers where they're going this weekend. They'll say, “Nowhere.” Ask what they're planning to do. They'll say, “Nothing.” Ask who is going with them. They'll say, “No one.” Illuminating, isn't it? Teenagers are the only people in the world who can use an entire tank of gasoline in one weekend without going more than five miles in any direction.

Teenagers are not excellent drivers, statistically speaking. They're inexperienced, obviously. They're also easily distracted, like dogs when a squirrel runs across the road in front of them. One pretty girl or cute boy walking down the side of the road can cause a pileup. Did you know that the more kids they cram in their cars, the more likely they are to be involved in an accident? It's true. It makes sense, when you think about it. The more friends, the more distractions the driver has. Think about how loud a group of six teenagers is in your basement when they are all laughing, yakking, and wrestling with one another. Now, think about loading that same group into a car and handing them the keys. How safe does that sound to you? It makes me feel like I'm going to vomit. Filling a car with teenagers is like shoving an open box full of puppies into a car without their mama. That's exactly what a carload of teenagers without adult supervision seems like to me. On the surface, it looks like a whole lot of fun. But really, it's just asking for trouble.