The Epic Teenage Journey

Occasionally a friend will post on Facebook that his/her child has just turned thirteen.  Frequently, the comments below the post will read like, "Oh, I'm so sorry" or "My condolences" or "time to lock up the liquor".    While I will admit that I sometime smile at these threads, as time goes on, I'm more likely to sigh and feel a tinge of sadness.

Teenagers get a bad rap.

Being a teenager is hard.   It was hard for us, it's hard for them, and it will be hard for future generations.   Every person must go through the transition/transformation from being a child to being an adult and it is a bumpy road for almost everyone.

So many religions and cultures have rites of passage for teenagers and there is a reason for this.   When you are a child, you are taken care of, as an adult you have to take care of yourself, and this takes practice.  Sometimes lots of practice.

In some cultures, a young teenage boy is sent into the wild on his own to learn to survive.  The lesson is pretty simple, "Kill or be killed", "Eat or Be Eaten", "Survive or……….don't".

In other cultures, kids are sent to public high school.   The same lessons are learned.

A few years ago I attended the Bar Mitzvah of a family friend's son.   My friend and I looked at him in his fine suit and marveled at what a fine young man he had become.  Now we both chuckle at the idea that he was "all grown up" at that moment in time.   Yes, physically he had matured into a young man.   He filled out a man's suit quite nicely.   But, in retrospect, he still had a lot of growing up to do emotionally.   But that kind of thing is harder to see.

Most of the hardest lessons in life have to be learned through experience.   There is really no way around it.   We can lecture our kids all we want saying, "don't drink, don't smoke, and don't text and drive!"   Unfortunately, our words are often not as effective as a hangover, or a dented car.
This is a universal truth.  It was true for us, it is true for them.

Last September I listened to two teenage girls in my kitchen mooning (is mooning still a word?) over the same boy.  I told them, "don't let him come between you two.  Boys will come and go, but girlfriends are forever."  They listened to me and lived happily every after.  No.  As if.   Within 48 hours of that conversation they were at each others throats and the next few months were filled with brutal conversations and horrific texts that quickly tore apart a dear friendship with much collateral damage in their wake.   Nine months later they are slowly nursing the bruised friendship back together, but it will never be the same.   BTW, neither of them "has" the guy. I wish I could say it won't happen again.   I wish.

These days social media makes being a teenager even harder.   When I was a teenager, I spent many hours on the phone with my closest friends and we would share our deepest secrets, crushes, and yes, we might even gossip a bit about our mutual friends and classmates.  But, when we hung up the phone the conversation was over.   Now kids text each other, and those words live forever.   One kid takes a screen shot of someone else's text and suddenly the whole world is seeing it.  Secret crushes are quickly revealed, as are thoughtless catty remarks.    Of course, we all tell our kids, "be careful what you text" but they don't listen until they are crying in their rooms because no one is talking or texting them because of some idiotic words they thoughtlessly threw into cyberspace.  Even then they might not listen.  

Eventually, they do learn the lessons, one by one, inch by inch, bruise by bruise.   As parents, much of the time we observe with white knuckles, and hope these lessons are learned without any serious ramifications.   When you teach your kid to drive it is just a metaphor for raising a teenager.   You grab hold of the seat, press the "invisible" brake and pray that you don't hit a tree.

And, as hard as it is, sometimes you get brief glimpses of the adult that your child is becoming.   You hear your child say, "You know, I am kind of upset with X but I think I'll talk to her in person instead of texting her."  good idea.   You come home from work to find that your child has put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and started the laundry and you didn't even have to yell at anyone!  Bonus!  Your child comes up to you and says, "Hey Mom!  Will you proof read my English paper?"  Haha!  As if that would ever happen!  (just some wishful thinking here).   But slowly you do start to see the insides matching the outside that fills out that man's suit so nicely.

Perhaps instead of treating the teenage years like the plague, we should acknowledge the tremendous journey that it is.   And, instead of offering our condolences when someone hits this momentous milestone, we should offer our support as the child sets off into the wild with only the crudest of tools in his hand.

And please, always remember, we look forward to your safe return.

Stop and Smell the Poop

Now that the snow has finally melted I like to take my dog out for a walk every morning.

He spent most of the winter convalescing from his back surgery and is still a little wobbly on his feet.

He was also quite inactive this winter so he put a few pounds on his already "sturdy" frame.

I'm just glad he's still with us.

When the girls get home from school, our lives are one big rush, with people coming and going all afternoon.   He usually just sits and watches and we head out and then come back again.   He doesn't complain, but he is usually ignored for most of the afternoon.   So, I like to give him a little time in the morning when things are quieter and we don't have to be somewhere "ten minutes ago".

His pace is slow, and he likes to stop every two feet to smell the grass, the leaves, and, of course, the poop.    After being covered with snow for so long, the world smells so good to him.   He smells it the same way I might smell a soup that has been simmering on the stove for a while, breathing in all the goodness.   Yes.  To him the smell of poop is olfactory goodness.   Eventually, we make our way to the bike path where we might encounter other people who are out and about exercising, etc.   We just plod along.

It's not unusual for someone to comment about his slow pace and say something like "not much of a cardio workout for you, huh?"  True.   Honestly, I don't walk my dog to get a cardio workout.   He is a shih tzu for goodness sake.   If I wanted a cardio dog, I would have bought a greyhound.    

Truth is, when he is "smelling the poop" it kind of forces me to stop and look around at how the earth is changing.   I watched as the snow receded bit by bit, and the ice finally melted on the pond.   I can see tiny buds slowly pushing their way up through the ground.   I notice a dead mouse who didn't make the great trek across the path.  You don't see these things when you are getting in your cardio.

I watch as a mother pushes her jogging stroller down the bike path and is multi-tasking, getting in her workout, getting fresh air for her toddler, and maybe texting from her iPhone.   The toddler might point to my pup and say, "Dog-gie" and the mother might smile and say, "Right.  That's a doggie." and off they go.    And more often than not I want to tell her to stop running.   Stop.   Take the kid out of the stroller and let him walk around.  Stop.  Let him see first hand the earth coming to life again.   Stop.   Let him pet the doggie.   Stop.

But I don't say anything, because that would be rude.

Later in the day, I am on one of my many trips back and forth to the high school and spot the most magnificent sunset ahead of us.  "Look!" I say to the girls "Look at the sunset!"   They don't even hear me.  They are talking about rehearsal, class, math quizzes, etc.   I keep driving because we do indeed have to be somewhere "ten minutes ago" but I know what I am missing.   And, I know the dog would get it.

Stop.

Who "We" are

As I mentioned in my last blog post, my father-in-law died about a month ago.   His loss of life was unexpected and left the family in a shocked state of grief, while still having to attend to the unfortunate bureaucratic details that go hand and hand with death.

My in-laws had recently moved to a community that had a sizable Korean-American population.  This was nice for them since it meant easy access to Korean grocery stores, in addition to many establishments where they could frequent and speak their native tongue.    When my father-in-law died my mother-in-law found a funeral home that was recommended to her by many of her Korean friends, even though it was not actually owned by Koreans.   My husband even went with her to meet the funeral director, an older white (this is an important detail) gentleman who seemed kind and jovial.  My husband agreed that it seemed like a good choice.

I have to admit that much of the weekend of the funeral, I felt absolutely, positively, conspicuously white.   I had never before felt like such a minority.  Not only were the majority of mourners Korean, but we were in a largely Korean community, staying at a Korean owned/occupied hotel, eating at Korean restaurants.    If someone had told me that I had somehow been magically transported to Seoul, I would not have argued.     I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb in the company of pinkies (reference to the pinky finger, not communist or socialist ideologies)  That being said, my husband's family was nothing but embracing and inclusive.    One of his cousins went out of his way to make the girls and I comfortable while my husband took care of his mother.  Some of his older relatives inquired about my parents and my brother who they had met at our wedding so many years ago.   Everyone went out of their way to make a difficult weekend just a little bit easier.

The funeral was difficult but lovely, and when everyone finally filed through the receiving line, there were suddenly just five of us left, my mother-in-law, my husband, the girls and myself.   I watched as the funeral director was talking in a rather brusque tone to my mother-in-law and was surprised at how harsh he was being.   She had just lost her husband, he was a funeral director, why was he not being kinder and gentler?   Yes, there were details that needed to be tended to, but there was certainly a nicer way of handling things.    He was particularly focused on having a few items that had been on display during the service, picked up by no later than the following Monday.   My mother-in-law shook her head that she understood.    Then, quite unexpectedly, the funeral director looked me right in the eye and, without batting an eye said something like,

"They don't understand deadlines the way we do, when we say we are going to get something done, we do it, they, on the other hand,  do things on their own time, whenever they feel like it.   They have no respect for deadlines."

Excuse me?

I stood there with my mouth agape while the rest of my family made their way to the door, unsurprised, by what this man had just said.

I wish I had said something, but I was too dumbfounded.

When we outside, on our way to the car, I asked my husband, "Did he just say that?"

All he could muster was, "Yup".

It always surprises me how my entire family lets racism and racist remarks just roll off their backs.   Even my own children don't react to such idiocy.   And, in some ways, I think this is good.   I don't want my kids to feel every unkind remark, racist or otherwise, that comes their way.   However, I also think it is wrong to not react.   How is this guy going to know that his behavior is completely unacceptable if no one ever tells him?   He apparently gets the majority of the Korean business in town, and yet, he behaves like this?

Unfortunately, I was no better.   I did nothing.   I said nothing.   Yet, I felt slightly bruised and damaged by this man who had been so rude to my family during such a difficult time.   Yes.  My family.

As we drove down the street to the post funeral luncheon, and as I spent a strangely delightful evening in the hotel bar with my husband's extended family the following, yet unsent, letter went through my head:

"Dear Mr. Funeral director, just so you know, you and I will never be "we".   Even if you and I were the last two people on this earth, we would remain "you" and "I", never, ever to be "we".   The "They" you referred to, are my "we" and will always be.   "They" are the ones I stand with in good times and bad, "they" are the ones who comfort me and make me laugh.  "They" are a part of me, which makes us "we".

Despite this, I should thank you too Mr. Funeral Director.  You see, I had been struggling this weekend, feeling a bit like an outsider.    But, you helped me see my "we".    "We" does not discriminate, "we" is not about the color of your skin, or hair, or how tall or fat you are.  "We" is a choice we make.

"They" are my choice.   You can be "We" all by yourself."

There's really not much more to be said.   We stayed at the bar pretty late that night.   And, some of us had too much whiskey) ;)  The next morning, we got up, we had breakfast, and then we went home.  The car drive home was quiet as we were all lost in our own thoughts.

And, in case you are wondering, we are doing okay.

It's them that I worry about.

He's just an animal

When we welcomed our dog into our family almost six years ago I made a vow to myself and my husband that I wouldn't, or we wouldn't, become those "crazy dog people".   You know, the people who spend thousands of dollars on their dogs (or cats, or gerbils, or snakes)
 so that they can get an extra year or two out of their already very short lives.   I think I said something, "Let's always remember, let's keep perspective, he's just an animal."

Once upon a time our eldest daughter had an extreme phobia of just about all animals.   To say that this put a damper on our life would be a gross understatement.    Have you ever gone for a walk in a state park on a beautiful fall or spring day?    You know who else likes to walk on beautiful days?  Dogs.    Lots and lots of dogs.  Every time we took our little family to a park, forest, or anywhere outdoors for that matter, there seemed to be an over abundance of dogs.   This would send our eldest daughter into an extreme panic attack and usually ended up with us making a hasty retreat, and more often than not, with said daughter climbing my husband like a tree (his back and shoulders still sorely remember these days).   As she got older we thought the problems would get better but they got worse.   She would show up at a friend's house for a playdate and find out they had a dog.   Sometimes the friend was willing to put the dog away for the duration, but other times they weren't and dd1 returned home feeling defeated.    Also, after she learned to ride a bike (see last post), as great as that achievement was, it was not so great when she rode her bike into a parked car when she saw a dog in it's front yard.   We needed to do something.    So we started going to pet stores and other places that sold dogs who were safely in cages.    DD1 went on these outings with great trepidation and most of them ended with her running to the car and us chasing after her.

Then, one fateful day, when my husband was out of the country on business, I took the kids to a puppy farm.   There was this one little ball of fur that was just curled up in a corner sleeping and dd1 asked, "Can I hold him?"   Um.  Sure.   Next thing I knew I was buying the damn dog.    How could I not?     My husband found out about the dog through an email with an attached picture of our daughter holding the little ball of fur.   His reply was something like "Who's the dog? and, who is the girl holding the dog?"

As I drove home, I made the vow to myself not to become a crazy dog person.   Afterall, "He is just an animal".

My daughter's doctor warned me not to expect our dog to solve our daughter's extreme animal phobia.
When he was a few months old we took him on his first family trip to one of those parks that had caused us so much trouble in the past.  Before we even got out of the car I could see other dogs romping around the trails.    My heart stopped.  But, my daughter was already out of the car with our dog on his leash.  "C'mon!" she yelled to him as she went skipping down the trail oblivious to the other dogs.   As she walked past labrador retrievers and german shepards she didn't bat an eye.  My husband and I were dubious every time we passed another dog but she just kept on going.   It seemed too good to be true.   But, it happened.  We had an uneventful trip to the park.   Then, shortly after,  she went on a play date at a friend's house that had a dog.  The dog came to greet her at the door and she brushed right by him to go see her friend.   Time after time it became clear that our little ball of fur had worked wonders on her, her fear of dogs and other animals seemed to vanish into the wind upon his arrival.   Mind you, she wasn't, and never will be, a great lover of animals other than her own, but the lack of fear changed her life, and our lives, in unfathomable ways.

When the dog came into our lives the girls were 9 and 11.  They were on the cusp of the tween, teen years and it wasn't long after the dog came to live with us that the girls lost total interest in us, their boring parents.   Whereas once upon a time they would come yelling and screaming down the stairs when their dad came home from work, now they would come down to the dinner table and merely grunt to acknowledge his prescence.    But, not the dog.   The dog showed excitement worthy of a "welcome home from the war" return, every single time the dude came home.  It was like he was saying, "Jeez, I never thought I'd see you again.  I'm so glad you came back!"  every. single. day.    As my husband mourned the loss of the excited faces of two little girls, who were not so little anymore, he salved his wounds by petting the member of the family who was shaking his butt so hard in excitement that sometimes we thought he'd take off like a helicopter.   If one of the girls happened to be around to witness the affection being shared by the boys of the house, they might even saunter over to give their dad a hug, to show the dog the proper pecking order of the household.   Neither the dog or my husband ever objected to extra hugs and kisses being doled out.  They still don't.

When the girls became teenagers, life became more complicated for them.   They were changing and so were their friends.  Suddenly, lifelong friendships dissolved, and many tears were shed over this.  They would come home from school sad and distraught and when I reached out to comfort them, I would be told that I didn't understand, no one understood the "unique" pain they were going through.  They would disappear into their rooms for hours sometimes, and many times they would bring the dog.  Oh!  the things he's heard.  He's heard of heartbreaking betrayals and snubs and exclusions.   He's heard the names of all the boys that did (yeah!) or didn't (boo) look over their shoulder with a smile during math class.  He knows it all.   And yet, he never gossips. He is the perfect friend. Their secrets are safe with him, and they always will be.

As for me, the dog is my mostly companion (nod to Eloise).    He and I spend our days together in a very ordinary way.   In fact, as I write this, he is lying at my feet with the scar of a large incision running down his back.   Yes, about a month ago he had life saving, yet very expensive, surgery.    Yes.  The very kind of surgery we said we'd never do.

As many of you know, December was a very tough month for our family.   Right before Thanksgiving my FIL was fatally injured in a traffic accident.   He was in the ICU for about 10 days before he fell victim to his injuries.   It was truly awful, and to be honest, I am not really ready to write about all that transpired during this time.

I wish I could report that our dog was like Lassie, saving my FIL just in the nick of time.  But sadly, that was not so.    However, I can say that our dog slept next to me while my husband was away at his dying father's bedside, providing me with the needed comfort of a warm body.   His fur seemed to absorb the countless, mournful tears of sad teenage girls who are at a time in their lives, when expressing their feelings can seem like insurmountable task.   And, when my FIL passed away, and my husband sadly returned home, it was the dog who first greeted him at the door with his unbridled enthusiasm and his ever wagging, helicopter butt.

The day after my husband's return, the dog started acting funny.  It was clear that he was not well.  We went to the vet, first on a daily basis, and then on what seemed like a hourly basis.   Eventually, he became paralyzed and surgery was offered as the only solution to save his life.  We would have to go to a special surgical hospital, our local vet did not have the necessary equipment.

As I drove the half an hour to the hospital I thought of the promise we had made almost six years ago when he first came into our lives.  The promise to not become crazy dog people.   I also thought about how much he had changed our lives, how he had saved my daughter from a life doomed to being a homebound recluse, how he gave his love so freely without any expectation, how he kept all our deepest, darkest secrets, and how he had comforted us in our darkest hour.   He had done all this and yet,

"He's just an animal."

And, yes, I kept my promise.  I never forgot exactly who he was.