The communication gap between parents and teenagers is as old as all time, but the rise of mobile technology has made matters even more complicated. Then again, if wasn’t for mobile chat-apps, would our teenagers ever listen to a word we say?
At times, provided the wind is blowing in the right direction and the stars are aligned, my teens and I will enjoy long, convoluted conversations that wind their way from school to world politics and back. At other times, I forget how their voices sound. Feast or famine is what springs to mind.
Take today, for example. I haven’t seen Kid1 since this morning. It’s not that he hasn’t been home. He’s been in his room, communicating, apparently. Not with me – with friends in his phone.
He just popped out for some tea. We exchanged a few words. “May I have a biscuit with my tea?” “Yes.” I’m listening to his voice now, as he sings in his room.
I know as well as anyone that communicating with my children is central to raising them well. But since they’ve become teens, it’s become somewhat of a challenge to have a heart-to-heart. It’s tricky engaging with someone who stares, unblinking, at their phone for hours at a time, or who appears to have earphones fused to the side of their head.
Their phones have been both a help and a hindrance in communicating with them. I can call Kid1 repeatedly from the lounge and get no more than an irritated “Whaaaa-aaat?” in response, whereas I can Whatsapp him and get an immediate reply.
My memory might be a bit sketchy because it’s been a long time since I was a teenager, but I was probably similarly uncommunicative. Because I come from the pre-Google era, when the world was in black and white, I didn’t have Whatsapp to chat to my friends. We actually used a landline to talk and caught trains to visit each other.
I had a Walkman and earphones, though. It played, as loud as possible, for as long as the batteries would allow. I do remember emerging from my bedroom to talk to my parents occasionally. Having long, what I believed were philosophical conversations with my dad. There was one conversation about the soul when I was about 16 that got particularly heated. But we talked when the mood took me, not necessarily when my parents wanted to.
It hasn’t always been like this with my kids. There was plenty of talking when they were younger. Granted, a lot of it consisted of “Mommy, look at me!” and “Mommy, look what I built!”, but it was interaction and that’s what mattered. I struggled, just like most parents, to find out how their day at school had gone, the standard answer being, “Fine.” End of conversation. Regardless, we engaged with each other a lot more that we do now.
Now that they’re teenagers, I have to respect their privacy, appreciate that they have things they want to be doing other than chatting to their mom, and allow them to have their space. When I want to talk to them, I have to collar them, corner them, or bribe them with pizza.
I have to choose my moments. My moment just recently was in the car as we were driving home from school. I’d heard some news that had traumatised me and I had to have an important conversation with them. Ensure that they knew I was there for them and that they could talk to me.
I’m trying to ensure that their devices don’t take over and cause us to stop communicating entirely. I’m not sure how we got here. One minute, I was debating with myself the merits and pitfalls of my children owning cellphones and the next, I was WhatsApp-ing Kid1 while he was in the same room just to interact with him.
I’ve implemented rules about the use of devices so that they don’t intrude too much. No phone, tablet or computer on in the bedroom after hours. The phone goes on the kitchen counter while they’re studying. No phones or music at the dinner table.
I’m not complaining. My teens do communicate with me when they need to, and I’m making sure I keep the lines of communication open. Sometimes, though, I wish they’d yell, “Mom! Look what I can do!” again.
Sometimes, despite myself, I have to say: Thank heavens for technology.
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