We made it. Our beautiful baby girl grew up despite us, and turned 18 this week. We decided to write her a list of all the things we wish we knew when we were her age, and I thought I'd share it with you.
1. You can only take one step at a time.
2. Bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people, for no reason at all.
3. Don't wait to follow your dreams.
4. Be brave enough to be giving and forgiving.
5. Use white vinegar to get the smell out of anything (even under your arms!)
6. Appreciate your beautiful body, don't wish and waste it away.
7. Always wash and pee after sex.
8. Strive to be conscious of your decisions and choices – never do anything because 'everybody else' does it or it's what you were told.
9. There is always a choice. Always. Sometimes it's a very hard choice, but it's always there.
10. If you leave your socks in the boot of your car for long enough, they get clean again.
11. Money is important, even when you don't want it to be.
12. Resist oppression from the start. Don't wait and see.
13. Pain is nothing to be frightened of.
14. Buy your own condoms. Use them. Wrap them and throw them away, don't flush them.
15. You don't have to be anything, or do anything, just try – and keep trying until you find out what you love.
16. In a relationship, sex is like talking. Keep talking.
17. Like your job, love who you are with.
18. Cooking is both science and art. Apply your knowledge of both.
19. Don't let being afraid stop you from doing what you want.
20. Drink plenty of fluids every day. I know you hear this all the time, but listen this time. ;)
21. Never go to sleep or leave each other angry.
22. Remember how fiercely you are loved and keep that with you always.
23. You brought light and infinite love into our lives. We are better people because of you. Just by living, breathing, smiling, laughing, you changed the world to make it better. So whatever you do, wherever you go, whatever you become as an adult, know that you have already achieved as much as you have to. Anything wonderful that you do from now on counts as bonus points to the universe. Bearing that in mind, you are free to strive to do a tiny, wonderful thing every day. Maybe it'll be a phone call or a social media message to someone lonely; or a smile for someone who looks sad. Perhaps you'll make someone laugh, or create something beautiful, or make someone look pretty; maybe you'll introduce two soul mates, or future change agents, or the leaders of a movement that will affect the future of everything. Maybe you'll make history by refusing to give in to a tiny piece of oppression, like not moving on the bus; or perhaps you'll make history by beginning a revolution. You might invent something incredible, or give someone who needs it a hug. You could ask a question that begins an avalanche of social change; or one that helps one person understand their world a little better. Any one of these things has equal value in the grand scheme of things, because you can never, ever know how a tiny, wonderful thing will turn out. What is important is to do the tiny things, and try to recognise the tiny things that are done for you; and be thankful for both. Be thankful for what you can give; and be thankful for what you receive. This is the secret to happiness.
I'd love to hear whether you have anything to add (or take away?).
Showing posts with label teenagers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teenagers. Show all posts
Friday, 5 April 2013
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
On Parenting Teens
It's nearly midday, and you have to wake your teenager up. You are irritated, because there are promises they've made and broken and you are going to have to start their day off by telling them. Also, you are a teeny bit jealous. You want to sleep the day away, too. Well, a very small part of you does. Your parents never would have stood for this.
You open their bedroom door and stumble over piles of clothes, books, toiletries, cups and towels. You resist the urge to yank open the curtains and open the window to release the hormonal fug, because that's what your parent would have done. You step carefully over the detritus, not knowing what's precious and what's not. You reach the tangled bed.
And there – there with crazy limbs in twisted sheets, mussed up hair and soft, sleep-puffed lips – there is your baby.
That face curled and pressed into you right after birth, nudging you for love and sustenance.
That mouth smiled at you for the first time one crazy morning long ago, and your heart beat faster.
That nose bled out of the blue one day and the scarlet trickle shocked you for a second.
Those lips told their first joke one quiet afternoon, and it was so terrible you laughed.
That chin was grazed more times than you can count, falling off walls and trees and things with wheels.
Those eyelids closed on a secret shared, a bedtime story, a favourite song, a game of hide and seek.
You've kissed those cheeks a hundred times. A thousand. A million.
That's your baby lying there, in essence. Your own lips smile and sigh, but you wake the sleeper anyway, to begin the push and pull of parenting a teenager that you think might be the death of you before you're through.
I sometimes think that teenagers are exactly like toddlers, only bigger, and a helluva lot more knowledgeable. More knowledgeable than me, that's for sure.
They have the same exuberance as toddlers. They experience emotions in extremes, rocket-like excitement and searingly painful frustration. Their emotions overwhelm them and spill out at inappropriate times, frightening teachers and conservative party voters. Those supermarket tantrums have become street brawls and classroom riots.
Their bodies are learning new things, like toddlers' are. They learn how to dance and fight and have sex, a step up on how to walk, run, jump and push. They learn how to push, too though – just push in a slightly different way.
They have a desperate need to push you away. It's the equivalent of the toddler's 'No!' - the 'I can do this by myself, and even if I can't, I'm going to try and try until I can.' You remember? It's the drive that children have to learn to walk, get dressed, feed themselves, only grown up. It's an 'I can do this life thing on my own' urge, 'and even if I can't, I'm going to try and try until I can.' They push you away because they have to, not because they want to.
It's not a rejection. It's growing up.
And because it is nature that creates the push, it's nature that creates the pull, as well. We apparently live in a universe governed by rules, one of which is that where there is a push, there must be a pull.
You feel the pull on your heartstrings, don't you? Every time your teenager pushes you away to take a risk, learn something new, experience a new emotional extreme, your heart is pulled back towards them, snapping on the elastic of the familial dynamic.
That shit hurts.
You can physically restrain your toddler from running out into oncoming traffic, but the best you can do for your teenager is teach them about the perils of alcohol poisoning and buy them a pack of condoms.
It doesn't matter how much pain you are in as you watch them risk their hearts and souls in the maelstrom of society, you don't have a choice – you have to sit back and let them do it. Even if it nearly kills you. Or them.
Just because they push you away, though, doesn't mean they don't need you. All the time.
All the time.
They need to know you love them. That they are loveable. That when inexplicable words are pouring out of their mouths in torrents, you love them. That when their bodies crave things they don't understand and can barely control, you love them. That when they run out into the street in the face of oncoming traffic knowing it is an extraordinarily stupid thing to be doing, you love them.
They need to know that when you are at your wits end and you want them to go and live with a different parent for a while, it is because you feel as though you are failing them, not the other way around.
They need to know that when you say no (and sometimes you must say no), it's because you want them alive and safe and well, not because you want them to experience social death by embarrassment.
When you are hesitant about how they look, it's because you are wondering how other people will perceive the beautiful child in front of you, not because you judge them and find them wanting.
When they mess up an opportunity that you were desperate for them to take, your disappointment is for them, not in them.
When you punish them for not fulfilling a promise or an obligation, it's because you want them to learn from their mistakes, not because you don't believe in them.
You always believe in them.
All the time.
How could you not? That's your baby over there, learning to walk and talk and have a good time. Finding out what hurts, what burns and what feels really, really good. Discovering consequences and the cost of living dangerously.
While they are doing it, because they are doing it and as a result of them doing it, they must know that they are loveable – and loved.
All. The. Time.
You open their bedroom door and stumble over piles of clothes, books, toiletries, cups and towels. You resist the urge to yank open the curtains and open the window to release the hormonal fug, because that's what your parent would have done. You step carefully over the detritus, not knowing what's precious and what's not. You reach the tangled bed.
And there – there with crazy limbs in twisted sheets, mussed up hair and soft, sleep-puffed lips – there is your baby.
That face curled and pressed into you right after birth, nudging you for love and sustenance.
That mouth smiled at you for the first time one crazy morning long ago, and your heart beat faster.
That nose bled out of the blue one day and the scarlet trickle shocked you for a second.
Those lips told their first joke one quiet afternoon, and it was so terrible you laughed.
That chin was grazed more times than you can count, falling off walls and trees and things with wheels.
Those eyelids closed on a secret shared, a bedtime story, a favourite song, a game of hide and seek.
You've kissed those cheeks a hundred times. A thousand. A million.
That's your baby lying there, in essence. Your own lips smile and sigh, but you wake the sleeper anyway, to begin the push and pull of parenting a teenager that you think might be the death of you before you're through.
I sometimes think that teenagers are exactly like toddlers, only bigger, and a helluva lot more knowledgeable. More knowledgeable than me, that's for sure.
They have the same exuberance as toddlers. They experience emotions in extremes, rocket-like excitement and searingly painful frustration. Their emotions overwhelm them and spill out at inappropriate times, frightening teachers and conservative party voters. Those supermarket tantrums have become street brawls and classroom riots.
Their bodies are learning new things, like toddlers' are. They learn how to dance and fight and have sex, a step up on how to walk, run, jump and push. They learn how to push, too though – just push in a slightly different way.
They have a desperate need to push you away. It's the equivalent of the toddler's 'No!' - the 'I can do this by myself, and even if I can't, I'm going to try and try until I can.' You remember? It's the drive that children have to learn to walk, get dressed, feed themselves, only grown up. It's an 'I can do this life thing on my own' urge, 'and even if I can't, I'm going to try and try until I can.' They push you away because they have to, not because they want to.
It's not a rejection. It's growing up.
And because it is nature that creates the push, it's nature that creates the pull, as well. We apparently live in a universe governed by rules, one of which is that where there is a push, there must be a pull.
You feel the pull on your heartstrings, don't you? Every time your teenager pushes you away to take a risk, learn something new, experience a new emotional extreme, your heart is pulled back towards them, snapping on the elastic of the familial dynamic.
That shit hurts.
You can physically restrain your toddler from running out into oncoming traffic, but the best you can do for your teenager is teach them about the perils of alcohol poisoning and buy them a pack of condoms.
It doesn't matter how much pain you are in as you watch them risk their hearts and souls in the maelstrom of society, you don't have a choice – you have to sit back and let them do it. Even if it nearly kills you. Or them.
Just because they push you away, though, doesn't mean they don't need you. All the time.
All the time.
They need to know you love them. That they are loveable. That when inexplicable words are pouring out of their mouths in torrents, you love them. That when their bodies crave things they don't understand and can barely control, you love them. That when they run out into the street in the face of oncoming traffic knowing it is an extraordinarily stupid thing to be doing, you love them.
They need to know that when you are at your wits end and you want them to go and live with a different parent for a while, it is because you feel as though you are failing them, not the other way around.
They need to know that when you say no (and sometimes you must say no), it's because you want them alive and safe and well, not because you want them to experience social death by embarrassment.
When you are hesitant about how they look, it's because you are wondering how other people will perceive the beautiful child in front of you, not because you judge them and find them wanting.
When they mess up an opportunity that you were desperate for them to take, your disappointment is for them, not in them.
When you punish them for not fulfilling a promise or an obligation, it's because you want them to learn from their mistakes, not because you don't believe in them.
You always believe in them.
All the time.
How could you not? That's your baby over there, learning to walk and talk and have a good time. Finding out what hurts, what burns and what feels really, really good. Discovering consequences and the cost of living dangerously.
While they are doing it, because they are doing it and as a result of them doing it, they must know that they are loveable – and loved.
All. The. Time.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Seventeen pebbles
Dear friends,
I came to the recent conclusion that if I am going to attempt to write poetry, I may as well publish it. Lacking any other forum, you valiant blog readers are the first to have your tolerance imposed upon. This is what it is like, living in my head. Don't worry, I don't expect anyone to actually understand! But if you do, or you have a theory, I'd love to hear your response.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seventeen pebbles
They are aligned in military order
Obscuring the chaos of small experience
Atoms colliding, pressure binding
Soft grains linking short time together
Boiled and cooled in seasoned tides
Their experience common, yet
Each fissure, each yearning pull
Uniquely patterned to the discerning eye.
Seventeen pebbles span the way
From one perspective, virginal, grey
Smooth, solid weight, equal in demeanour
Holding space and time in balance.
The stones know all truth and
They know all lies
And experience has yet to teach
One knowledge from the other.
Another path beckons
And when seventeen become one more
The route will change
The sun-baked streaks of expectation
Foreshadowing dreams dissolving
Reforming, renegotiating what you knew
To be real and honest validity
The best and the worst of you, stirring sand.
How many pebbles are permitted
Before the sifting of salt and iron
Reveals the crux of matter?
Learning to weigh truth and desire
Lies and stories, myth and mire;
Stumbling upon gardens, fruit-filled,
Tempting you to beat your own tail
Pick your truth, choose your lies to soothe.
Take care, seventeen; life comes
To the lucky and the unfortunate
And it holds no grudge
Against those who take the easy ride.
Right now, you know all truth
And you know all lies,
Though experience has yet to teach you
One knowledge from the other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was seventeen, I believed that I was an adult.
From the perspective of forty-five, I know with absolute certainty that I was a child.
The cliché that teenagers know everything allows us to joke about them, and belittle those feelings that we all remember well. But I got to thinking about it, and wondered.
When you listen to young people, and when you see what they create, you begin to question whether in fact they do know everything. Their words can demonstrate a clarity of perception that stops you in your tracks. Their writing, composing, art, performance – any mode of creativity, unweighed by experience, taps into truth and freedom of expression in a way that adult art does not.
Perhaps everything it is important to know about life is already known to you by the time you have lived seventeen years. What comes with experience isn't so much more knowledge, as the ability to distinguish truth.
It's the difference between theoretical life and applied life.
The extremes of childhood, recently lived, allow you to access all the theory you will ever need. By the time you reach seventeen, your story is already written.
But the highs and lows of adulthood require you to apply your theory, and that is much harder to do.
At first, when things happen to you and you are responsible for your own reactions, life can leave you confused and bewildered. You may anticipate your story, but the reality of what it feels like to actually experience it can be shocking.
Eventually, you reach a point when the pattern of your life-story has repeated so many times, applying your theoretical knowledge becomes a simple matter of recognition.
Ah, so deep, so deep – you just want to know how to feed your kids and make them happy, don't you?
Here are two recipes for soup, both soothing and nourishing for teenagers writing exams.
Butternut squash and apple:
Soften an onion in olive oil while you chop the squash into small pieces. Pop them in the saucepan with the onion and add ground coriander and nutmeg. Cover the squash with stock, and allow to simmer while you peel, core and chop three tart apples – Braeburn are good. Add these to the stock and simmer until the vegetables are soft. Blend and serve with sour cream or crème fraiche.
Spinach and parmesan:
Soften a couple of shallots in olive oil on a low heat, then bung large handfuls of spinach into the pot. Sprinkle with allspice and mild mixed spice (the kind you use in Christmas cakes). Stir until the spinach is wilted, then cover with hot stock and cream. While this gently simmers, grate in a chunk of parmesan. Don't let it cook too long. Blend and serve.
Now you have nourished your teenager, ask her about the meaning of life. Perhaps she'll tell you, if you can listen.
I came to the recent conclusion that if I am going to attempt to write poetry, I may as well publish it. Lacking any other forum, you valiant blog readers are the first to have your tolerance imposed upon. This is what it is like, living in my head. Don't worry, I don't expect anyone to actually understand! But if you do, or you have a theory, I'd love to hear your response.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seventeen pebbles
They are aligned in military order
Obscuring the chaos of small experience
Atoms colliding, pressure binding
Soft grains linking short time together
Boiled and cooled in seasoned tides
Their experience common, yet
Each fissure, each yearning pull
Uniquely patterned to the discerning eye.
Seventeen pebbles span the way
From one perspective, virginal, grey
Smooth, solid weight, equal in demeanour
Holding space and time in balance.
The stones know all truth and
They know all lies
And experience has yet to teach
One knowledge from the other.
Another path beckons
And when seventeen become one more
The route will change
The sun-baked streaks of expectation
Foreshadowing dreams dissolving
Reforming, renegotiating what you knew
To be real and honest validity
The best and the worst of you, stirring sand.
How many pebbles are permitted
Before the sifting of salt and iron
Reveals the crux of matter?
Learning to weigh truth and desire
Lies and stories, myth and mire;
Stumbling upon gardens, fruit-filled,
Tempting you to beat your own tail
Pick your truth, choose your lies to soothe.
Take care, seventeen; life comes
To the lucky and the unfortunate
And it holds no grudge
Against those who take the easy ride.
Right now, you know all truth
And you know all lies,
Though experience has yet to teach you
One knowledge from the other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was seventeen, I believed that I was an adult.
From the perspective of forty-five, I know with absolute certainty that I was a child.
The cliché that teenagers know everything allows us to joke about them, and belittle those feelings that we all remember well. But I got to thinking about it, and wondered.
When you listen to young people, and when you see what they create, you begin to question whether in fact they do know everything. Their words can demonstrate a clarity of perception that stops you in your tracks. Their writing, composing, art, performance – any mode of creativity, unweighed by experience, taps into truth and freedom of expression in a way that adult art does not.
Perhaps everything it is important to know about life is already known to you by the time you have lived seventeen years. What comes with experience isn't so much more knowledge, as the ability to distinguish truth.
It's the difference between theoretical life and applied life.
The extremes of childhood, recently lived, allow you to access all the theory you will ever need. By the time you reach seventeen, your story is already written.
But the highs and lows of adulthood require you to apply your theory, and that is much harder to do.
At first, when things happen to you and you are responsible for your own reactions, life can leave you confused and bewildered. You may anticipate your story, but the reality of what it feels like to actually experience it can be shocking.
Eventually, you reach a point when the pattern of your life-story has repeated so many times, applying your theoretical knowledge becomes a simple matter of recognition.
Ah, so deep, so deep – you just want to know how to feed your kids and make them happy, don't you?
Here are two recipes for soup, both soothing and nourishing for teenagers writing exams.
Butternut squash and apple:
Soften an onion in olive oil while you chop the squash into small pieces. Pop them in the saucepan with the onion and add ground coriander and nutmeg. Cover the squash with stock, and allow to simmer while you peel, core and chop three tart apples – Braeburn are good. Add these to the stock and simmer until the vegetables are soft. Blend and serve with sour cream or crème fraiche.
Spinach and parmesan:
Soften a couple of shallots in olive oil on a low heat, then bung large handfuls of spinach into the pot. Sprinkle with allspice and mild mixed spice (the kind you use in Christmas cakes). Stir until the spinach is wilted, then cover with hot stock and cream. While this gently simmers, grate in a chunk of parmesan. Don't let it cook too long. Blend and serve.
Now you have nourished your teenager, ask her about the meaning of life. Perhaps she'll tell you, if you can listen.
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