Middle Age

My son is going through middle age. This is not the typical middle age between birth and death. He is thirteen and going through the middle age between being a child and being an adult. I talked to a friend of mine today and she said, "He doesn't want to go backward, but he isn't ready to go forward." That would describe my teen.

I remember seeing a graph once that described regular middle age as such:

As someone who is in my forties, I can relate. The good news is that it should get better in the next few years.

I feel like this applies to my son in his teen years:

I have read articles about the teenage brain, and how it is in the process of pruning unnecessary synapses, or whatever part of the brain they no longer need. The good news is that it should get better in the next few years. This was also true for my daughter, who is now sixteen. I was at an event with a bunch of parents a few years ago when Claire-Adele was about thirteen. I was complaining about her antagonizing behavior, and how I found it annoying at best and enraging at worst.

"She is in the band, right?" Ron said. "I thought kids in band were good kids."

"She is a good kid," I said, "But she is a horrible person."

They all laughed. Brian was quiet for a minute, and then said, "My brother said there is a reason they call it 'Sweet Sixteen.'" I thought about that comment today. Kids get calmer and kinder as they age, as do their parents. Today Claire-Adele was trying to mock me and be mean about not driving her to school,* but she really lack the power and punch she had a few years ago.

I see the Boy struggle with wanting to be independent, make up his own mind. I remember when he was a little kid and I directed almost everything he saw and did. I would let him choose what clothes to wear, but the clothes were bought by me and my mother-in-law. He could choose which book to read, but I bought all of the books. When he got a half hour of TV time, he could choose which Thomas the Tank Engine he wanted to watch. And on.

Now I have less say over what he listens to, reads and wears. He had a Kindle, and ninety percent of the time, I don't know what he is reading. Once in a while, I check the Amazon account to see what he has bought, but that is it.

I don't want to go backwards in time to when I was the creator of his world, but I miss the time when he was more impressionable, and I could make the impression. I miss saying "This is what we are doing this weekend!" and my kids would happily go along. This weekend, I wanted to see the Sherlock Holmes exhibit at the Pacific Science Center. I thought the Boy would like it, but he didn't want to go. He'd rather rest on the couch. My friend Eleanor suggested giving him chores to do as an alternative option to get him out of the house, but the Boy chose practicing his music for an hour over hanging out with me.

Maybe that is the difference: Jack was working, and the Boy would have to hang out with me. The Boy seems to gravitate towards his father lately, which is good. I am happy for both of them, but I still miss my baby.

* She walks every day unless she has to bring something large or heavy to school. That was not the case today. It wasn't even raining.