My Teenager

If I say “black,” my used-to-be-such-a-sweet-pea-but-is-now-a-teenager, says “white.” If I suggest anything, it’s immediately dismissed as a possibility, whether it’s helpful tips for time management or how to “win friends and influence people.”  I think my job as a mother is done.  There is no more impact I am able to make with my child, other than be the bad guy and give him consequences for chores not completed or being disrespectful.

My, how time has changed things.

We made a contract, which I have hanging in my office, signed by that sweet little boy himself when he was 6-years-old promising to “always love on my Mama.”  These days, I have to beg for a morning hug and even then, it’s only my arms wrapped around him, while his arms hang limp by his side, as if he’s enduring a torturous moment.

We’ve been doing a lot of college shopping lately, as it’s less than a year away until he has to make big choices on where he wants to apply.  He recently informed me that any school that’s within a day’s drive of home is just too close.  He wants to be far away.

What happened?

I met a new friend of his a few weeks ago, another teenager that spent time with him last summer on a ten day adventure with the youth group from our church.  The first words out of her mouth were, “Oh, you’re Kaleb’s mom?  You’ve raised such a nice boy!”  “Really?” I asked, “Really?”  She smiled and walked away as I turned to look at my boy and inquire if truly she was talking about him.  He smirked and said, “I am a nice guy, I just don’t let you see that side of me.”  And this is the payback I get for being the Nice Guy’s mother – nothing but attitude.

Friends tell me it’s “normal,” and part of the separation process kids have to go through with their parents.  I’m reminded by many to think back on my teenager years and how I treated my parents.  All of that is well meaning consolation, but I guess I expected something different.  I’ve tried to be a loving mother with healthy boundaries and at this point anyway it all seems for naught.

Just last week, my 15-year-old “sweet boy” asked me at what age I thought children advanced into adulthood.  I told him the law says they are adults at age 18.  “I don’t mean that, I mean, at what point do you think they become mature enough to make good decisions for themselves?”  I said at about age 30.  We then had some discussion about what it really takes to be an adult and how some people never really grow up – a good example being his father – who at age 70 still acts like a boy in many ways.  The conversation ended with him telling me that in his opinion, and based on conversations he’s had with other homeschooled friends, he thinks a person moves from childhood to adulthood at age 14.  So apparently, the law has it all wrong.  This explains a lot.