Change has a funny habit of happening gradually, and then happening all at once. And when you’re the parent of a teenager who is on the cusp of the big scary world of adulthood, that feeling can leave you adrift…even as you take some comfort from the thought that your teen will figure things out.
“I feel as though I’ve woken from a trance,” said a friend. It’s true. It sneaked up on us, and here we are, squaring up to it. I’m talking about The Future. Capitalised, because of how significant and intimidating it is. Our sons are in Matric.
All they’ve been hearing at school for the past six months is how important this year is. How they should knuckle down and work. And how they should know exactly what they want to do next year.
Really? Kid1 and I have been through some tense times lately. We’ve chatted, we’ve argued, we’ve looked at the Future from so many angles.
This is change on steroids. We’re both clueless and what’s clear is we’re not ready. It’s not as if there isn’t an abundance of resources available to help us make the decision. There’s his school counsellor, the whole of the internet, books in the library, organisations dedicated to guiding school-leavers, friends who’ve been through it and have years of experience to share. And yet, we find ourselves at sea. There are so many options. Which is the right one?
And of course, there’s my opinion that there’s no single path to the Future. That life can be long and meandering, and that 17 is a ridiculous age to be expected to know exactly what you’ll do with your life.
When you’re 17, your priority is getting through the school day so you can spend time with your friends, listen to the music you love, skate for a few hours, and dream about how much of the world you’d change if you had the power. If you have any plans at all, they’re to do the exact opposite of what your parents did.
He could do a general degree and decide later on what he’d like to do with his life. It’s what I did and it all worked out just fine. But what is the right path for him? At the moment, we’re leaning towards a gap year. For him, it’s a year to earn money and think about his path. For me, it’s a year to get used to the idea of him being in the world and convince myself he’ll be ok.
Because there’s also my anxiety. Here’s a secret, moms of younger ones: Change in parenting happens gradually, until it doesn’t. Until you realise that the things you’ve taught them are now part of their arsenal they can take them and run. On their own. When they’re little, you toy with the future, laugh indulgently at their goals to be a rocket builder and an astronaut. And then time creeps up on you.
He’s Kid1, my first-born, the one I held in one arm while reading or eating or visiting friends. The one who taught me how to be a mom. He was two and having daily tantrums, and then he was six and going to school, and then he was in Grade 7 and impossibly little, his voice not yet broken, and then…he was in Matric. In less than a year, he’ll be an adult, apparently, able to vote and drink and make decisions on his own.
For 17 years, I’ve been his safeguard. I’ve taken him to parties, fetched him from school, and helped him navigate relationships. All the while, slowly letting go. Putting my big girl panties on and, heart in mouth, allowing him to skate to school, walk to the shops on his own, and find his own way to friends and back.
Allowing him to cook for himself, and choose not to eat with us if he wasn’t hungry, even though my mom-heart was shouting to me that I should be nourishing him, ensuring he’s well-fed and healthy. Allowing him to make his own decisions on things that mattered and would teach him how to be a person in the world.
In a year, he’ll be able to be out there on his own, and I’m not ready. He’s toying with going overseas to experience life without that safety net. He wants to learn to drive, and earn money. All good things. All right and natural and the order of things.
But the change is freaking me out. I’ve woken from my trance and the Future is here. It’s both good and terrifying.
I’ve raised him well. He knows he’s loved. Only time and acres of courage and will see us through.
Leave a Reply