Her shoulders were tense and her mouth was set in a line, as she recounted the conversation she’d had with her teenager that morning.
I smiled. “Thirteen is the worst, isn’t it?”
“Yesss!” she said on a sigh.
“There’s hope,” I told her. “Seventeen was a turnaround age for my kids. I was sitting on my bed folding laundry, when my daughter came in, sat down and started telling me about her day. I thought, Who are you? And where have you been for the last few years?”
Her mouth turned up, but she still sighed.
This is what people dread when they say they never want their little ones to grow up. But every age has something we’re happy to leave behind.
Well on the opposite side of those teenage years now, I’m dwelling less on the rough conversations, late nights, and drama. I’m glad the full calendar, endless events and rides, my-needs-come-last time is over. I do believe that kids must pull away from us to become adults, and that’s hard for everyone involved. But there were amazing moments from that time too.
Last week a coworker showed me a video of her son’s solo in the school musical. And I remembered many other recitals, plays, impromptu performances.
I recalled one daughter’s grace and speed, as she leaped through the air, legs perfectly parallel to the floor.
I thought of my other daughter’s purposeful drive down a soccer field, her powerful kick, coordinated team passes, aggressive play.
I remembered stories told from first jobs, caring for others. I reminisced about proms, lovely dresses and makeup, and where-did-my-little-girl-go?
When else in our lives are we both skillful enough and free to try on roles like hats: scholar, dancer, artist, athlete, singer, star? How many of us continue any of these identities past those tumultuous teenage years?
While you couldn’t pay me enough to go back to my own adolescence, now I can look back at my daughters’ teen years with a sense of wonder.
But for the mother of a thirteen-year-old, there’s nothing to do but wait.