Grounded in Trust
As parents sift through the aftermath of Halloween (parents of younger kids I see you & am jealous you’re likely browsing through their plastic pumpkin bucket right now, hand-selecting a few fave pieces of candy to savor!), I’m pondering how different ours was this year. It was the first Halloween my husband & I sat home with dinner & a movie, the entire holiday passing us by without so much as a single Trick-Or-Treater on our doorstep.
In years past we kinda rocked Halloween. Caiden always had an individual costume for school & oftentimes it meshed with our family-themed group costumes. There was the Halloween Stephen was Luke Skywalker, I was Princess Leia and Caiden was R2-D2, an unforgettable masterpiece my art-educated husband crafted from a white, dome-shaped, spinny top trash can. Or the year he created trendy, working fidget spinner costumes for each of us. Or the year we went as a PB&J sandwich—Caiden being the PB&J while we surrounded him as single slices of toasted bread. The year that the “floss” dance was popular Caiden wore a handmade container of dental floss costume while Stephen & I were a toothbrush & toothpaste. Yeah, we were pretty into it.
This year, Caiden’s senior year of high school, he sewed his own costume (super cool, he was Mad Hatter) & attended two Halloween parties. I was happy he could enjoy some fun with his friends (& a few hundred other Tahoe/Truckee high schoolers) but of course I had some apprehension & nerves around kids being smart & responsible in social situations such as these. So I shared my usual guidance about driving, drinking, caring for friends & others, using good judgment, making good choices, calling us at any hour for any thing needed, & off he went.
Both nights went fine. There were no major issues or upheavals & to my delight the kids had ironed out designated drivers. My son shared the highlights from each night, including a humorous anecdote about a kid who drank too much & spent QT kneeling at the ‘oval office’. All in all, it seems a good time was had at the age-old get togethers called high school parties.
But it got me to thinking. If I rewound time to when I was 17 & had gone to a similar gathering there was no way I could or would have shared a single detail with my parents. As a matter of fact, to be able to attend a party I told my parents I was spending the night at X or Y girlfriend’s house & disclosed nothing more. To have admitted where we planned to go & what had actually gone on would have resulted in grounding, discipline, a lecture & my parents may have even tried to break the party up before it began if they’d had early knowledge of it. And yet I keep asking myself WHY?? WHY did I grow up during a time when most everything we did that was spicy youthful or rebellious or even teenage typical (albeit displeasing) had to be hidden. Friend smoked a cigarette, cloves or pot? Shhhh! Not a word to parents. Had a few California Coolers at a prom after party? Shhhhh, silence! Police eventually broke up the merrimaking? Shhhh! Say zilch. But WHY??
I’m certain my parents did similar shenanigans in high school or, at least, college. I’d even guess they chuckled behind closed doors if or when they suspected I was part of some of these things, but never did we talk about any of it. Much like, as I’ve shared in another blog, things like periods, shaving & deodorant were absolute non-conversations in my household too. WHY? WHY? WHY??
Now, don’t get me wrong, I do struggle with the blurred lines of listening to our kids share deeper details of their saucy personal lives & the potential for them to perceive that we’re condoning these things, which I’m/we’re not. But, for me, it oftentimes boils down to communication & protecting my line of communication with my son fiercely, not selectively.
I’d rather hear some head-nodding details & be able to laugh or empathize or even share some nuggets of parental wisdom or guidance, than be left in the dark while my kid lies, or lies by omission. Much of the things we did that I kept from my parents were things they could have (& should have) educated me about.
I’ll never forget driving like a mad-woman to make a (ridiculously early) curfew my father had set. Our crew was gathered a good 30 minutes from my house & I didn’t leave soon enough to get back on time. And in my “one-week-of-grounding-for-every-minute-you’re-late” (legit!!) home I drove over 100 MPH on the freeway to try & beat the clock. Me… a completely inexperienced youth driving at speeds I wouldn’t even attempt as an adult with nearly 40 years of driving experience under my belt. Me… who got so dang lucky that nothing ran in front of my car that night or that I didn’t tweak the wheel somehow that would’ve caused unimaginable damage to me, someone else, our vehicle. Me… who never once considered calling my parents to explain the situation & request some grace or extra time, knowing indeed there would be none & that I’d be grounded weeks upon weeks either way. I can honestly say I would never, ever set these rules for my own child, having a pretty good grasp of the teenage brain, but having an even better grasp of how to focus on what really matters—i.e. having my teen arrive home safely versus having them treacherously race against a parental-materialized ‘clock’.
The things my son shares with me have quieted considerably in the past few years for sure, and that’s ok. It’s to be expected & even normal & healthy as he prepares to leave in just 10 months. But I do feel pretty confident that the big stuff, the ultra-funny stuff, the super scary stuff, the I need a voice of sanity stuff, the OMG I screwed up & Mom is going to be so pissed! stuff will still be mine to hear, & I’m grateful.
I read the other day that parents of young adults are moving from being managers to consultants in their kid’s lives, & this really struck me because it’s true.
I guess that’s what these years of trying to keep the lines of communication open have been all about. Not having a say in every decision or knowing every detail, but making sure that when it really matters our kids know they can come to us. Even when they’ve messed up. Especially when they’ve messed up.
And maybe that’s how we know we’re doing something right. Not when our kids tell us everything, but when they know they can tell us anything.
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