I was a teenager once...

Contrary to the belief of my teenage son, I DO REMEMBER what it was like to be a teenager. Not a teenage boy, granted, but a teenager nonetheless.


I was the only child of a single mother (my dad died before I became a teenager). I lived before cable TV (we had a HUGE antennae), Computers, Internet and gaming stations.

Homework was assigned by teachers and turned in on paper. I don’t remember typing a paper for school until I was in college.

I had a license and a car and a job and friends and homework. I went to the football games, had a crush on the quarterback, went to dances and played volleyball. I performed with the choir and was painfully shy around everyone but my closest friends. I went to Youth Group, attended church; I loved the Bay City Rollers and the Monkee’s and Andy Gibb and Olivia Newton-John. We went to drive-in movies and movies in the theater too.

I went to a public and a private school during High School and carried B’s in most of my classes. I was disrespectful to my mom but never lied to her about anything. I had chores and responsibilities around the house. I had a curfew. I don’t EVER remember breaking it. I hung out with friends that were ‘good’ and friends that were ‘bad’, but didn’t get into trouble (unless you consider sneaking a friend or two into the drive-in ‘bad’).

I had no plans for the ‘future’ except to get married, have children and be a wife/mother. I took typing and shorthand, because I knew I’d likely have to work before or during marriage and I was good at secretarial things.

I left home at (barely) 18, attended college in another state and, again got pretty good grades. Math has always been an issue for me; it’s not my strongest subject. But I passed my classes (except Algebra in High School). I enjoyed what I learned, disliked (but not hated) homework and studied as much as I had to.

I would love to say I’m a great parent; but I’m not. It would be easy to say I’m a horrid parent, but I’m not that either. It would be effortless to blame the school or the counselor or the teachers; but it’s not their fault either. I’m just a confused, tired parent who doesn’t understand my teen’s attitude about his life. I don’t understand how to motivate or encourage him to do what’s expected of him.

I don’t know how to get him to understand the expectations aren’t mine; they’re the expectations of society. The opportunities he is so gladly, willingly squandering are prospects he can’t easily get back.

I’m not the prospective employer looking at just one more resume of yet another teenager who wants a job. I’m not the college admissions board reviewing school records. I’m only the parent who knows what a great kid he is; the great kid that doesn’t show up on school records or resumes.

Not sure who told me girls were more difficult than boys; that hasn’t been my experience at all. My girls held jobs, had boyfriends and passed their classes. They were motivated to do well – even if they hated a teacher or a class or an assignment.

It’s strangely comforting to know that I’m not the only parent with a senior that is possibly not going to graduate. It’s sad that the shared experience of the moms is that somehow WE’VE failed our children. The dads put on a good front and say “They’ll make it”. The mom’s search through their brains, lie awake at night pondering, spend the days trying to figure out at what point they knew their child would fail; but there isn’t a day or a moment or an event that flashed “Failure”! But we still hope they’ll make it. We still hope they’ll pull that miracle out of the sky.

I don’t know how to get past “He’s not going to graduate = I have failed as a mother”. It tears me up inside. I realize the reality is that he’s made choices and that he’ll have to deal with the consequences of those choices. He’s chosen not to do the work; chosen not to turn them in; chosen to be late, chosen to wait until the last minute; chosen to miss appointments with his school counselor. I realize that I have done what I can and that some things he has to learn for himself; the hard way. But it’s painful to watch him purposefully fail. Not because he doesn’t have the ability to succeed, but because he’s chosen to fail.

And that he doesn’t care.

He isn’t likely to graduate from High School. And it’s killing me.