Parenting: GUILT TRIPS

Power struggles between teenagers and their parents take many forms. My children knew that the "when" of performing family responsibilities was negotiable but that the "what" and "why" were relatively fixed. Until adolescence they were generally very co-operative. At that point, my son's bid  for autonomy took the form of long, creative arguments about the rationality of my leadership and the necessity for his capitulation vis-a-vis family responsibilities. He wanted to insist on "win-win" solutions so was usually amenable to compromise, although I was often characterized as a social dinosaur. (More about those interesting encounters later in a separate post.)

My daughter was a cheerful, helpful child until she also reached that developmental stage of "addled essence" when the underlying issue of her autonomy became more important than the overt task at hand. On those occasions what she wanted was to have her way, be in charge of her life. She wanted to win. That perhaps subconscious want was probably intensified as a result of years of being under her older brother's thumb as well as mine. She was conflicted, however, because she was basically a wise, rational, loving and obedient human being who hated conflict and emotional confrontations.

Her last stand, if I asked her to do one of her chores or help me around the house when she wanted to go out with her friends (a standing preference) and she felt the negotiation was not going her way, was to accuse me of trying to send her on guilt trips. Knowing that I tried to be a reasonable, flexible parent and as fair as possible, she would try to use that against me to make me feel guilty by blaming me for the guilt she felt for being defiant rather than reasonable and not following her own higher instincts of parental respect and pulling her weight at home. She was clearly bidding for at least a pyrrhic victory in the end by implying that I was being devious and unfair - a bad parent. I understood her struggles, but did not accept responsibility for the pain her conscience was giving her. 

Parenting: SOCK THERAPY

My son came home late one day during his first year in high school, paced around the kitchen and started to rant. 

“The Principal really ticked me off! He is so unfair! “ When he sat down in a chair and toed off his shoes he saw his toe poking out of a hole in his sock. He first pulled the hole to cover his toe, but as his rant continued, he began picking and pulling at the hole. 

“I was trying to break up a fight (rip goes the sock) and got sent to the office (rip, riip) with the guys who were fighting (rip) and I got blamed (rip, rip, rip) and we weren’t allowed to explain (two-handed RIIIIP) and I had to apologize (rip, RIIIIIIP) and serve detention (rip, rip, rip, rip), and I’m so mad I want to break something! (RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPP)”

Parenting: THAT TONE OF VOICE

On one of the calls my son made from college, I was a bit late in picking up the phone and, unbeknownst to either of us, the upstairs answering machine recorded the whole conversation. We chatted amiably about this and that and then I remembered that I had sent him vehicle registration papers that he needed to fill out and return by a certain date. As I told him this news, he said, “There you go again with that tone of voice, Mom,” a frequent complaint. And I protested as usual, “What tone of voice?” “That 'gotta make sure my kid handles this' parent tone of voice that says you don't trust me.” 

I had no idea what he was talking about. I thought I was just emphasizing something important. I did think of him as responsible and thought I was just giving him a reminder.

As I was getting into bed that night, I saw the message machine blinking so I pressed the play button. I smiled, happily reliving our conversation until the part about the vehicle registration when there it was – “that tone of voice.” It did indeed sound like I did not trust him to do the job.

Gitalongs: ANGST REFINED

He came in the front door with a cheery “Hello!” looking spiffy in his business suit. His kids, wife, and I responded in kind. He set his brief case on a chair in the hall and came into the kitchen. In the space of one minute, he crossed the kitchen to his wife at the stove, gave her a noisy kiss, raised the cover on a simmering pot (“Ummm that smells wonderful!”), crossed the kitchen again to kiss me, said “Stay for supper. Be back soon,” and went upstairs.

When he came down 20 minutes later, he was dressed in casuals. We called the kids to dinner and had random conversation with them about the kids’ day at school and my friend's and my work in our gardens. After dinner, the kids were excused to do their homework. My friend said, “Abby and I were talking about all of us taking a trip to the Eastern Shore tomorrow.”

Oh, I'm sorry,” came his response, “but we have other commitments.”

“We do?” she asked, puzzled.

Gitalongs: THE GUNNYSACK AND THE HANG-UP TREE

Some days when we arrive home from work at the same moment, I see my neighbor stop and admire a dogwood tree along the pathway from his car to his door. Some days he just eyes it as he passes, perhaps nods and smiles at it. Other days he appears to examine it for quite a while. On one such day, curiosity got the better of me and I hailed my friend as he was gazing at the tree. My friend half waved and continued to look at the tree. I approached quietly and looked at the tree to see what was so interesting. When my friend finally turned to me, I asked, "What are you seeing that I don't?"