I have a thirteen-year-old son. I know, I know. Your sympathy is appreciated. I have gone through this age twice before. I have two daughters that successfully navigated the pitfalls of this particular gauntlet. Here’s the thing, though, the girls talked.
My daughters both had no problem telling me what was happening in their world. I knew who was dating who; who my girls liked, who had picked on them and who their friends were. This was all information they offered up freely. I did my best not to get involved. I tried to listen and offer advice, not become a part of the story. I felt blessed to have the kind of relationship with my kids, where they were comfortable sharing with me.
Now it’s the boy’s turn.
Warning upcoming mommy brag. My son is awesome! He is smart and funny, and cute, but also shy and kind. To use a term my dad is fond of, he has a good head on his shoulders. He’s also a snuggle bunny. He snuggles up to me while we watch a TV show together, he enjoys playing board games and loves road trips with the family. I know, he sounds a bit like a nerd. But, he also kicks butt at Fortnight (or which ever video game is “in” these days) has witty comebacks when his friends rag on him, is a great soccer player, and like I said, he is a good looking kid.
When he reached thirteen, I was ready for the teen drama, had centered myself so that I could respond rationally when he told me a girl had broken up with him, or a classmate had been bullying him. What I hadn’t been ready for was the complete and utter shut-down of all communication. He still cuddles, he still loves road trips, but I have no idea who his friends are other than names and faceless voices I hear over the phone. I don’t know if he likes a particular girl or if she likes him. I know he isn’t vaping (because his sister keeps an eye on him) but that some of his friends do. When I ask a question, he mumbles a response that really doesn’t answer the question.
It is hard as a parent to let go of your kid, even this small amount. He is my baby, my only boy. But, most importantly, I know what others don’t. I know he is very shy, and regularly has trouble advocating for himself.
I remember sitting in his fifth-grade classroom hearing from the teacher what a good person and friend he was. We left and he started to tear up. I asked him what was wrong. He answered, “I’m not a good person.” I asked him why he would say that. His reply was that when he rode the bus to school, sometimes he would put his backpack on the seat next him so that no one would sit there. He wanted to listen to his audio book on the ride and not have to talk. It broke my heart. I explained that he was allowed to seek space for himself, that he was allowed to make sure he is taken care of too. In seventh grade he allowed all of his teachers to call him by his first name because he didn’t want to speak up and let them know he preferred his middle name. He was in parts too shy to speak up and also afraid that correcting them would embarrass the teacher.
Watching him try and navigate this trying age without seeking the support of his family is indescribably difficult. I suppose I have to have faith that we raised him right. Believe that he will take the foundation we laid and continue to be smart and kind and good. But most of all I hope he continues to know that we are there, backing him up. And, when he is ready to start talking again, we will be here to listen.
Rebecca Lamprey 