These are difficult days. Some of you are homeschooling for the first time, and many of you are sure that your middle schooler is not remembering a single thing you said to him or her. If that is true, please let me, as a current teacher of 150 middle schoolers, reassure you:
You are exactly, 100% correct.
They are not remembering a single thing you say to them.
Before you run down the driveway screaming (And please, don’t do that, because where in the world would you run off to now? Remember when going to Starbucks was a thing? Oh, what sweet, innocent days those were), let us virtually gather around our home-brewed coffee and share what we’ve learned in the mine-ridden fields of parenting and teaching, since we are all firmly planted in both pastures these days.
When your child reaches middle school age, it is as if he or she reverts back to toddlerhood. Remember the toddler brain? It is awash with learning and growing and changing into a new person, hour by hour. One minute, it simply cannot get enough of those delicious green beans. You’re so proud! What a healthy eater you’ve raised! The next hour, it banishes green beans to the depths of hell (aka, the floor you were just thinking about sweeping). It will ask you the same question 82 plus eleventy-four times, even if your answer is always the same. One thing. 82 plus eleventy-four times. I do not teach math, but I submit that this is some exponent too many.
Like a toddler, the middle schooler’s brain is also awash in growing and changing and human-ing and, of course, hormones and, right now, a pretty big dose of uncertainty: “What do I believe about the pandemic? My parents say X. My grandparents say Y. My phone says (*_)*&^%. My friends expect me to be very, very sure of what I think, but I’m just trying beliefs on for size, sort of like how I’m trying showering on for size. Should I shower every day? Once every 12 days? Meh. I for sure don’t know what I believe about that one OR the amazing invention of deodorant.”
Maybe you, a parental person, forgot that you didn’t learn this in Honors Biology Class, but the teenager’s brain is divided into four quadrants: The Gaming (or other Hobby) Quadrant, The Friend (or Social Media) Quadrant, The Things I Am Figuring Out Quadrant (do I like church, do I care about social justice, how do I feel about higher education and what political party am I) Quadrant, and the Sex Quadrant. At some random times during the day, the last quadrant takes over 97% of the brain and swallows the other quadrants whole. Just stand back. Walk away. Jesus, take hold of the wheel. And the internet filters.
As a parent, I have learned that the best way to guide a teenager in the Things I Am Figuring Out Quadrant is simply this: Summon up your most Oscar-worthy acting abilities and Do. Not. React.
Teenager: “I don’t believe God exists.”
You: “Hmmmm.” Keep sauteing whatever you were sauteing.
Teenager: “I am NEVER having kids. Kid are stupid.”
You: “Hmmmm.” Keep driving wherever you were driving. Probably to the grocery store. To replace the party-sized bag of tortilla chips you bought yesterday. Whatever.
Teenager: “I think jobs are dumb. I’m going to backpack across South America by myself and learn about the world that way.”
You: “Huhhhhh.” Don’t even think about saying what you were thinking about. They will eventually discover that things like gas and food and shoes cost actual cash money.
Teenager: “I think (fill in the blank with whatever politician you please) is who I’d vote for for president.”
You: “Huh hh hhh.” Just keep swimming. This one might be more difficult. You can do it! Channel your inner Meryl Streep!
It’s ok if your insides are screaming, “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL *(&^%! ARE YOU THINKING WITH YOUR VAAAAAAST LIFE EXPERIENCE? ARE WE EVEN GETTING ANYTHING ACROSS TO YOU? HAVE WE UTTERLY AND COMPLETELY FAILED?” Outwardly, you remain Mother Teresa. Maria von Trapp. Mary the Blessed Mother. Hallelujah and Amen.
Then, and only then, once you have successfully non-reacted, and perhaps you are gathering around the dinner that you provided with your non-backpacking life, or riding in the car filled with gas paid for by your dumb ideas about jobs and compensation for them, is the time to ask gentle follow-up questions:
“Sooooo, can you hand me those napkins and how did you reach this decision?”
“That looks like a cool game and hey, what articles were you reading about (insert name of politician here)? Can you send me the link? I’d like to learn more.”
“This pizza isn’t bad, and oh, could I share something fascinating I just read/watched/listened to about XYZ?”
In my house, sometimes (ok, many times), I missed the all-important step one, and I overreacted. I do come from a long line of over-reactors, after all.* But the good news is this: I apologized, and I circled back, and I listened with my Resting Non-Reactive Face, and then I asked the questions. And I discovered that, above all else, teenagers are simply trying on identities like shoes: “How do I feel about this one? Is it comfortable? Is it ‘me’? Do I feel good this way?” They need to practice articulating how they feel, and they are going to be clumsy and awkward about 9/10 of the time. But better they practice it with us, a soft place to land. And when they are practicing, and we are non-reacting, there’s one more mantra to remember:
They are not mini me. They are not mini you. They are themselves, and we have approximately .000000000000001% control over the people they become. That doesn’t mean that we don’t pour out our own thoughts and feels and dreams and beliefs for the short time that they are in our lives. We do, certainly, but we also learn to listen more than we lecture, and we nurture the relationship more than we defend our ideals.
Because, in the end, I want to have kids who feel welcomed and accepted and loved around my table, kids who know that they always have a seat there. I want kids who have wrestled with the things and possess the deep soul knowledge that what they believe is theirs, that they have fought it through. I want to be a model of a parent who is willing to think and consider and rethink and reconsider, a parent who does not value dogma above daughters and sons.
So hang in there, parents of middle schoolers. The good times are coming. As are the showers. Well, one can hope.
(*to paraphrase my mom’s favorite quote from Father of the Bride)
