When I posted that my teenager was ready to drink and smoke pot, readers offered all kinds of helpful suggestions, including one adamant woman who wrote: “NO, DON’T DO IT!”
Her clarion call continued:
Be the level headed pure kid who saves the others… the thoughtful clear-headed guy that makes the difference. The one who is sober and can be the designated driver, the one who does CPR on their friend when they have stopped breathing because they have overdosed on something they didn’t realize would affect them LIKE THAT… and be the one who has enough wits to figure out how or when to call 911 so their friend doesn’t die this one time because you were smart enough to notice that something just doesn’t or didn’t seem right and that something is life-threatening!
Other readers complimented my teenager’s honesty and our family’s openness; while professionals shared the statistics and the risks and the undesired outcomes. One mother took us in a completely different direction with hard-earned wisdom:
“Let go, and trust.”
A lone father chimed in suggesting that we explore both the dark and the light side of partying in order to get after, what my son was after, in making these choices.
Our family’s practice of non-violent communication (NVC) allowed us to do just that. Months ago when he made the proclamation that he was thinking about drinking, NVC enabled us put aside our agendas–to explore each of our needs.
I so clearly felt his need for fun and connection and exploration that I almost ran out and bought the booze myself.
He so fully heard my need for safety and responsibility and respect that he appeared defeated in his desires.
It was then that I realized how important this was to him. Not just the partying, but the relationship.
As the months passed and his desire to explore intensified, I noticed that his need to stay in right relationship with us was competing with his need to stay in right relationship with himself.
As far as I can tell, we are approaching the break. The place where he chooses self over family so that he can move on to create his own life.
As a parent, I have to support that drive. The tricky part will be managing right relationship with myself as he begins to make choices without me.
Though I’ve pestered friends and stormed the internet and rifled through leaflets outside the guidance office, I can’t find anything worthy of my son’s honesty.
What’s new is our son. He’s changed. He turned the corner on sophomore year and sprinted into his junior year, and he knew. He wanted to join in. He wanted to drink too. He wanted to get high. (Not everyone is, but his friends are, and he’s missing the fun.)
“Do you want me to hide it?” he asks. “Or do you want me to tell you?”
“I want you to wait,” I say, and he does. Until he says he doesn’t want to anymore.
“I need some time to figure this out,” I say. “How much time do I have?”
He estimates 7 or 8 months, but a few months later, he presses me:
“What are we going to do?” he says. “This is stressing me out. Nothing is changing. You just keep saying wait, and I know I’m not going to.”
I try threats–Military school.
I try thinking outside the box of culture–Moving abroad.
“Well then, be a part of the 1/3 or even the 10% or even the only one. Be different.”
“I don’t want to be.”
His father and I partied long before we were of age. 300 bars in 1 mile at the Jersey shore (our hometown) kind of lends itself that way. If there were people who weren’t drinking back then, we didn’t know them, and didn’t want to.
Neither of us recall our parents saying anything to us about it–before. Of course, the drinking age was 18 which was a dramatic difference. Seniors could go to a bar at lunch time if they wanted.
21 is so unrealistic, and as a parent I can’t hold the course that long.
“Is it just the legality?” my son asks.
“It’s important,” I say. “No matter what, you’re putting someone at risk–some parents’ home, some kid who is driving.”
He tries to hedge around that, but I don’t let him. There’s no arguing this starkness of this truth.
“I want to be safe,” he says. “That’s why I want to be able to tell you so you can help me.”
Where is he getting this stuff? Online? Where’s my stuff?
“It’s also the other kids,” I say. “Maybe you’ll be smart, but someone else won’t. And then there’s the other kids for whom your choices will set the norm. What about their risks? What about that responsibility?”
He doesn’t have an answer. He looks as defeated as I am. We are sitting on his bed. I reach out and caress his shoulder.
“If I thought alcohol or pot were the answers you were looking for,” I say, “I’d go out and get it for you because I want you to have fun. I want you to experience your wildness.”
“I know,” he says.
When I return to the internet for some kind of support with this conversation, I find two extremes–Be clear with your kids about your expectations; OR when they’re heading toward rehab–encourage them to be candid with you.
What about the in between? What about a son who wants to remain in right relationship with his parents, and yet wants to explore the world in ways in which we can’t legally or logically approve?
The devil is in this dichotomy, and neither my son or I can live with that.
‘What about emancipation?” I say. “Then you can make your own decisions.”
“I’m not ready to be on my own,” he says.
“Then save these decisions for when you are.”
“I still need your support,” he says. “Even with this.”
At the 5 Guys in Mystic, an elderly woman tugs on my sleeve while I refill our ketchup. “You have a lovely family… so nice,” she says, and her husband nods in agreement. “You deserve to take a bow, Mom. Right now.” and so I do, right there with my french fries.
It’s moments like these that highlight our family vacations.
~Like when my husband runs into the Subway shop on our way through the town of Salem, asking (on a whim) where we could find all the witch stuff–only to be reminded that we are in CONNECTICUT, not Massachusetts.
~Or the museum volunteer who dashes out of her meeting when she sees our family standing in front of the painting that she simply must tell us about;
~Or the young custodian in the casino who kindly goes out of his way to give my teenager directions to the ice skating rink, and hours later, my son repeats, “I really liked that guy.”
Duerer, visipix.com
Family vacations provide for these kind of touchstones which would easily be overlooked if not for the novelty of being out of place–together. The trips don’t have to be fancy or expensive or even long. We’ve taken 24 hour getaways that hit the spot.
Still, it’s tricky fashioning a trip that pleases a man and a woman, a ten year old and a teenager. Over the years, we’ve found that setting intentions–before making plans–helps create success–for all.
~This winter we knew what we needed most was simply a change of scenery. We also knew that we had neither the energy nor the finances to go very far–though we definitely wanted to head south. We began looking toward something coastal.
Gauguin, visipix.com
~Next we realized that we wanted this trip to provide some kind of “adventure”–some new discovery or experience that we could share together.
~Lastly, we wanted this vacation to offer what we want every vacation to offer–a chance to be incubated as family–away from home and routine and every day distractions.
This last one is a steep order when you’re traveling with teen given their great need for peers; so the deal has to be extra sweet. We accomplished this by finding a location that not only had an aquarium for my 10 year old and an art museum for me and a coastal town for my husband–but also a shopping mall, right near our hotel.
While the last place on earth that I want to go on vacation (or any other day) is the mall, my son feels the same about art museums or days on end without friends. Thus, there is a give and take in our time together that brings balance to the whole.
Schiele, visipix.com
He tolerates a walk through a scenic waterfront town, and we tolerate a deadening maze of airless storefronts for him. Actually, I skipped the mall, but we all went to the art museum because I was covert about it. Chocolate always helps. They were eating M & Ms when they noticed that we pulled up to an art gallery just before lunch.
It’s also important to find something that the entire family enjoys equally as much. For some families, that’s amusement parks; for others, it’s the movies; while for others, it might be camping. For our family–it’s always been food.
The whole point of vacation for us is indulgence, and thus I always book a hotel that includes breakfast so that my kids can pig out on stuff I wouldn’t let them touch on a holiday–basically sugar masquerading as various forms of nourishment.
If we’re on a trip that lasts more than a couple days, I also make sure that we have a room (or an apartment) with at least a refrigerator so that we can eat in one meal a day. This makes it more affordable, especially if lunch is our “out” meal. It also helps ground us into a bit of routine.
We take turns choosing–a seafood place on the water for me, 5 Guys for our teen, pizza at Chuck e Cheeses for my ten year old, Italian for my husband.
As a family, it’s this give and take that makes our vacations (and our lives) work, even if we do have to remind our teenager about this flow of energy from time to time.
I’m touched when he hugs me and tells me that he had a nice vacation. I almost want to take a bow.
“But now, I’m ready for friends,” he adds.
“Yes, I imagine you are,” I say, “And Dad and I desparately need some date time.”
“Okay,” he replies amenably, as our resident child care provider.
This first morning home our small house feels expansive with plenty of room for our separate agendas. We intersect in the kitchen for to delve into the Cracker Barrel leftovers; and then we each head back to do our own thing.
My husband is in bed nursing a sore throat, while my ten year old is playing with his castle. I’m diving into writing and no doubt my teenager is texting friends.
A hum of ease and joy pervades the home and it feels good, even if no one has faced the laundry. I think back to the incubation of our hotel room, which was at times too crowded, but also sweet in the togetherness it provided. Our view was of a wooded lake without a home or human in sight, while the hotel itself was situated across from a strip mall.
Living rurally as we do, it was a treat to suggest to our boys, “Why don’t you head over to the stores and we’ll pick you up on the way to the aquarium.”
I would have preferred the hotel in Newport, right at the sea, but when my sons discovered this one beside a mall AND a Chuck E. Cheese’s, I couldn’t turn them down.
As a parent, watching them soften and delight in each other’s company–and into ours–is the best gift of all.
The Empty Nest Diary 