As my youngest child rapidly approaches her eighteenth birthday, it has occurred to me that my days of raising children are over. I am now responsible for parenting young adults. This new phase of my life involves making suggestions rather than giving directions, since my daughters have reached an age where they must learn to make decisions for themselves. That, and they wouldn’t listen to me anyway if I did try to tell them what to do.
I have to admit that dealing with younger children is much easier than dealing with young adults. Younger children are more likely to follow directions, because you can still take away their stuff. If you try to discipline an older teenager, they just roll their eyes and say things like, “Whatever, old man.”
It’s the “old” part that hurts.
Younger kids also are more willing to believe you when you lie to them. When my girls wouldn’t go to sleep, I would tell them that if they moved too much or made too much noise, the child-eating dragon would wake up and come out of the closet. It worked every time. The girls would immediately quiet down. Of course, I still can’t get them to hang their clothes up in the closet, but a parent sometimes has to compromise to achieve the greater good.
A parent can also shield a child from some of the harsher realities of life. My oldest daughter had a hamster when she was eight. It died suddenly while she was away at school, but I did not have time to dispose of it. So, thinking fast, I told her that I had taught it a new trick. The hamster was just ‘playing dead’ whenever she came into the room. Of course, I had to place it in different parts of the cage from time to time so she thought it was moving around when she wasn’t looking. This trick bought me an extra two weeks before I was able to bury it in the yard and tell her Mr. Fluffy Pants had run away.
As my children grew older, they became, well … not smarter, but much less gullible. They figured out that mom isn’t actually allergic to messy bedrooms, vegetables don’t taste better than candy, and dad can’t tell when they are lying just by looking at their faces. That last one was where I really lost control.
They got a lot meaner, too. We were all at the dinner table a few nights ago, and I asked my youngest to clear the table and carry the dishes to the sink. She leaned over and placed both of her hands flat on my stomach. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me, “Trying to feel the baby kick.”
I may have gained a pound or two in the past couple years, and this apparently provides unlimited amusement for my daughter. I told her it’s not nice to make fun of someone’s weight. She said, “It’s also not nice to wake a kid up and drop them off at school on a Saturday. What can I say? Lousy parents get lousy kids.”
I didn’t know if I should get mad at her for mouthing off, or be proud of her for being so self-aware.
It is an odd dynamic in the house with adult children. Instead of yelling at the kids to be quiet, I find I am usually begging them to talk to me. Rather than wondering when they are going to move out of the house, I am more often wondering where the hell they are and when they’re going to be home. And the only family members that seem to have a bedtime these days are me and my wife.
And I suppose it only gets worse from here. It won’t be too long before the kids will be making all of my decisions for me, and I will have to do what I’m told so they don’t take away my stuff. They’ll decide where I live, what I eat, and what I wear. They’ll also pick out the person that will take care of me when I can no longer take care of myself. It will probably be a large lady with the name, Gerta. And she will say things to me like, “C’mon old timer, it’s time to take a bath.”
It’s the “old” part that hurts.