The Ghost of Teenagers Past

I have learned a lot during my journey as a mother. I got a crash-course in parenting when Morgan became a teenager. Oh.My. She was a tricky one, but for the most part was way more saintly than me in my teenage years. She was still abducted by aliens and replaced by a sarcastic, "it's not my fault!" procrastinating clone. They brought her back, eventually. Damn aliens.

There is one thing that sticks out when I reflect back on her early teens: giving her keys to a car changed her personality.

I don't know when this tendency starts in parenting, but I am guilty of it. The tendency to assume one child is going to follow in the other's footsteps exactly. Particularly where there is a sense of freedom involved.

I have written before about my mom's strategy by the time I hit my eye-rollin', talkin'-back, rebellious phase. Her strategy didn't work. At all. So my approach with my two teens has been different. They have my trust until they give me a reason not to trust them. I at least give them the opportunity to meet my reasonable expectations. In general, it has worked out. There are mistakes made, by them and by me, but we all learn from them.

So, Chucker got his license about a month ago, and after a cluster of car issues, he now has some wheels. And I have been assuming the worst of him ever since. Strictly based on my experience with his sister. John is equally as guilty. I cannot tell you how many times he has let "You just got Morganed" fall out of his mouth in the last couple of weeks. That's right, Morgan's legacy is such that she has become a verb in our household. When there is manipulation of people, time, money, "well, see what had happened was", etc. that's when you've been "Morganed".

My mother assumed that I would do everything that my older two siblings tried as teenagers. I get it. We recognize our shortcomings as parents and we learn from them. And that's fine, but my experience with "cookie-cutter" parenting has never been positive. Don't get me wrong, I believe there are some developmental phases which few humans can escape. There are going to be similarities in certain aspects, but what works for one isn't necessarily going to work for another. Just because Morgan was a logistical nightmare doesn't necessarily mean that Chucker's fate has already been written in that area. Matter of fact, his pendulum swings in the opposite direction. He's punctual to a fault. Morgan hasn't seen punctual in almost a decade. Maybe ever. I dunno.

Maybe I'm giving us (parents) a bad rap here. Maybe it's human nature. John had zero experience as a parent when we got married. He automatically assumed the worst of Beba because of his teenage experience. Mind you when he was 16 Reagan was president, gas was 89 cents a gallon, and Teddy Ruxpin was the best-selling toy. Yet somehow Morgan was supposed to be held to the same standards he was charged with living up to.  As I type this, I can see how senseless that sounds. In the moment, though, all of that escapes me as my anxiety level increases exponentially knowing that I am getting "Morganed" by either of my churen.

Becoming aware of this tendency has given me pause to stop and breathe. Both of my teenagers are good kids. They're different as night and day, though. So for now I'm strappin' myself in for this roller coaster ride that is gonna be Chucker with a car. That's inevitable. He's a teenager with a sense of freedom and independence. Whether it's the "Afterburn" or the "Kiddie Coaster" is yet to be determined.

Have I mentioned how much I love roller coasters?

Wonders Never Cease

My son, the middle one, that is, got a new toy today. He's been wanting one for months and his wait is now over. He bought a banjo. Because the guitar "just isn't challenging enough for me anymore". Twerp.

This is verbatim a snippet of a phone conversation between me and a friend of mine a couple weeks ago:

Hello?

What you doing?

Listening to Chuck pick out a James Taylor song on the guitar that he's heard all of about two times.

@#$%!! (expletive). Tell him I said I hate him.

I know that all mothers are amazed by their children's abilities. I get it.

I am truly baffled by mine.

He had that  damn banjo home for all of a couple of hours and had already learned a song. By ear, of course. BY EAR. Looks like the banjo won't be as much of a challenge as he originally thought.

As I am lying on the couch fllipin' through pages on Pinterest, I hear the chords to a very familiar song. I smiled to myself. That is effin' amazing. My next thought was, That is effin' disgusting. 

Try as I might, I will never possess his ear for music. Or my daughter's artistic ability and eye for fashion. Ever. I should be happy for them, right? Proud even. Well screw that. I am proud of them and I do admire them for their abilities. I am also envious.

Okay, okay, I'm outright jealous. There. I said it.

My susta and I have names for people who possess things we want. We call them "whores" (lovingly, of course). Seein' as how that's not really appropriate when referring to my churen, I am open to suggestions.

p.s. It is impossible to play the banjo quietly, turns out. There is no escaping the TWANG of that thing anywhere in the house. Even if I shut him up in a room with all doors closed and retreat to my bedroom with the noise machine on, for instance. Nu-uh. Still.Doesn't.Work.
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So, did you get a text from your susta tonight?

'Bout what?

Your diddy?

Um, no. What's up?

He took a Zumba class tonight.

Shutyourmouth!

::hysterical laughter::

On the topic of wonders never ceasing, any of you who know my father will automatically see the wonder humor in this. Yeah, you're welcome. I kindly thanked my sister for the material and got off the phone. I could not wait to tell John.

And all of y'all.

Oops.