If teens are Superman, parents are their kryptonite
This past Tuesday came and went like most any other summer day,
with my wife and I leaving for work as our sons were sprawled
across their beds getting that valuable adolescent sleep of which I
am so jealous.
If teens are Superman, parents are their kryptonite
This past Tuesday came and went like most any other summer day, with my wife and I leaving for work as our sons were sprawled across their beds getting that valuable adolescent sleep of which I am so jealous.
They have no idea how lucky they are to sleep in until 9 or 10 or whenever they stir. I do remind them – no, warn them – that their sleeping patterns will be disrupted when school starts in about a month, so they should enjoy it while they can.
At that time, and for the first time, we will have two teenagers to rouse from that deep sleep. Tuesday was our youngest son’s 13th birthday, meaning the Breen household now is blessed with a pair of teenage boys. We are so lucky.
Now we get to deal with double the attitudes and double the appetites, both of which are strong features of teenage boys. I know, as I used to be one many years ago.
We will now have two sons that I liken to Superman with his dual identity. At home, my 14-year-old doesn’t mind watching TV with his old man, choosing at times to sit on the couch right next to me. He even engages me in conversation about baseball or basketball or some other important thing in his life as I tell him it’s time to go to bed. Here, in our own fortress of solitude, he is the mild-mannered Clark Kent.
In public, my son is Superman, with his tough exterior (if not the Spandex tights and cape). Mom and Dad are kryptonite in certain situations; especially social situations like the movie theater or a Baler football game.
It’s “thanks for the ride” and “I’ll see you at 10.”
I understand it, as it is a rite of passage. Parents just aren’t cool to teenagers. I teach high school; I see and hear the groans from teens when they talk about their parents.
But I also know that parents are important to teens, though they are reluctant to admit it. They want parents to be there for them, just not always be there with them.
My youngest son turning 13 this week reminds me that he will soon give his parents the public cold shoulder a little more often.
We must live with that fact, even if we don’t like it.
When I first started driving and my mom was in the car with my friend and me, I asked her to crouch down in the back seat in case some of our friends saw us as we were rolling down San Benito Street.
I don’t remember if she did – I think not – but she got the hint that her teenage son and his friend did not want to be seen cruising with mom in the back seat, making sure my hands were at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.
My oldest son, when he starts driving with dad in the car, can ask me to duck down in the back seat. I already have my response planned:
“Absolutely, son; I will be happy to duck down in the back seat of the first car that you buy, insure and fill with gas using your own money.”
The next four or five years, the final march to college, freedom and adulthood, will fly by now that both of my formerly little boys are teenagers.
They will feel indestructible at times, though mom and dad know that is only the stuff of comic books.
Adam Breen teaches newspaper and yearbook classes at San Benito High School and is a reporter for The Pinnacle. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
