Bigger kids, bigger problems?

Don't let the title of this post fool you. This evening, I am not proselytizing about what you should or should not feed your children. Most days, I don't know this myself. 

Instead, I want to share with you the question that has been nagging at me lately: As my kids get older, will parenting get tougher?

I have been a mother for a little over four and a half years. A mother of two for a little over 18 months. I've had hard days. I've experienced exhaustion. I have faced unknowns and health scares and boo-boos. But, when the challenges pass and the tantrums are reduced to simmer, my children sleep peacefully in their own safe beds. Every night. They end their days with kisses and hugs and books and a sip of water. They end their days safely under my watch.

I have been a high-school teacher for a little over 8 years. I have taught grades 9 through 12 in inner cities and affluent suburbs.  It stands to reason then, that I may know more about adolescents than I do young children. My students' achievements range from receiving a Presidential Scholarship to receiving a GED. Neither child is more or less intelligent than the other. They have simply made different choices. 

As parents of young children know well, "choice" is a big buzzword. We encourage our children to choose good behavior. To choose to set the table. To choose play over television. Choice takes on a different tone as our little loved ones get older. 

I can recall clearly two very different conversations I had with two very different students of mine. They shared one thing in common though, both were pregnant and both had not yet graduated high school. I cried with them as they spoke with me and confronted frighteningly real decisions: "Should I have my baby? Should I tell my parents? Will I be able to graduate? How can I care for my child?". Oddly enough, during both of these conversations, I was pregnant with my first and second child, respectively. At the time, I was scared for them because I knew intimately the toll of mothering. I knew the stress. I will also tell you this: These were not "bad" kids. Neither had a history of poor decisions. They were high acheivers in my classroom. They were bright, vibrant young women. Now, they are strong, successful young mothers. And both have my respect.

Then, there were my two male students so clearly struggling with their own sexuality. My God, as if we don't struggle enough with sex and the accompanying hormones in high school, these young men were facing an enormous hurdle: "Should I admit this to myself? Should I tell my parents? Should I open up to my friends?". Remember that dreaded high school social hierarchy? It's worse now. Now, instead of rumors spreading by note or hallway whispers, they can reach every student in the school at the speed of a text. One Facebook post and everyone, everyone, knows you are Gay. Before, maybe, you know it yourself. I can recall one of the young men telling me that he had to speak with me after school and then proceeding to cry for an hour. He told me of every problem in his life, but never once shared with me that he suspected (that he knew) he was Gay. 

I knew though. I wanted so desperately to throw my arms around him and whisper, "Kiddo, once you are out of this place, life opens up. Just survive for a few more years." But I was a brand new teacher when that conversation was taking place and felt afraid that getting too personal with a student would earn me a ticket out the door. So I settled for listening and supporting.

There are the students who have sat in my classroom, high on one drug or another, thinking I didn't know. But I did, I knew. 

There are the bullies and the bullied. I remember vividly being bullied in sixth grade by a group of four girls who told me that if I didn't get on my knees and beg, they wouldn't let me sit at their lunch table. I can still feel the rocks digging into my knees as I looked into their eyes and asked for a seat.

There are the young women cutting calories. Eliminating food altogether. My eyes find these sufferers immediately.

After 8 years of teaching I have realized that most relatively tuned-in adults and parents know whatever a teenager is hiding before they admit it to us because we have been there. We have done it. 

On Sunday, Tim and I took the kids to Jordan's under the guise of finding me a writing desk. Really, we needed to get out of the house because Zoe was miserable with a cold and whining non-stop. As we neared our destination, we realized that neither of us had checked what time the store opened. The resulting Google search informed us doors opened at 11 am. It was 10:15. We stopped at a nearby Dunkin' Donuts to snag coffees for the grownups and munchkins for the munchkins. Zach and Zoe sat side by side in their coordinated fleeces eating happily. The group of old people that can be found in every Dunkin' Donuts everywhere on Sunday mornings looked at us admiringly. One man said to us, "Enjoy it. As they get bigger, the problems will too."

I nodded and smiled and thanked him and filed the advice away to that region of my brain where words from kindly old people wilt and disappear.

But it surfaced later after Zoe had stopped whining and was playing happily with some straws and trucks. I looked at her and wondered about the choices she will make. I thought about what I can do to give her advice that won't be filed away to the parts of her brain where she will store words from mommy that she thinks are prudish and antiquated.

So, mommies of older children. Mommies of children who are 8 and 10 and 18 and more. Please, tell me and all of the young mothers reading this post, what can we do? How can we do it? How can we make sure that our children make good choices long after we can tuck them in at night?

I promise, I think we all do, we'll listen.