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Ten
Things Your Teen Is Reluctant to Tell You by Colleen L. Reece
1.
Walk in my combat boots.
Every
time I step out the door, it’s like walking into a war zone. You tell
me sin’s been around since Day One, but it couldn’t have been
anything like this. When you were my age, at least kids knew they were
doing something wrong. My world preaches that it’s up to us to decide
what’s right and what’s wrong. The only thing sinful in today’s
politically correct world is to not do your own thing or to be
intolerant of someone else’s lifestyle. Some of my friends, even
those from good homes and religious backgrounds, tell me, “Trying
marijuana or booze is no big deal” or “If you’re really in love,
it’s okay not to wait for marriage.”
You’ve
taught me better, and I’m hanging in there. Yet, if you walked in my
shoes, you’d understand that it’s hard to be a PG teen in an R-rated
world.
2.
My holdout span is limited.
Read
my mind. I can’t always express how thankful I am for parents who won’t
let me do everything I ask. It wears pretty thin when I keep making up
my own excuses about being a no-show at after-event parties. So when you
say “absolutely not,” it takes the monkey off my back. It’s
okay to ground me when I mess up. It shows me you care. I might gripe
(that’s part of being a teen), but I’m often relieved to have an
out.
3.
The world is strange, and I’m afraid.
You
used to drive my monsters away, but now I have different ones. I’m
scared about not becoming class treasurer or not making the debate team.
I think about guns at school and drive-by shootings. My friends’
parents are getting divorced, and I wonder if one day I’ll have to
choose between the two of you.
4.
I can’t perform on demand.
Just
because I’m good in football or drama doesn’t mean I can perform in
the living room. I’m not being moody; I just need the band behind me.
Putting on a helmet or stage makeup gives me security. Maybe you could
invite those people who care to a football game or a school plays. I’ll
do a good job there, and you will be proud of me.
5.
Don’t be embarrassed if I don’t respond the way you hope I will.
I
wish you wouldn’t get all apologetic when I mumble hello to Uncle
Wilbur and then turn into a zombie, You don’t know how hard it is to
field remarks like “Hey, Josh, you’ve grown a foot since I last saw
you!”
When
I say, “No way, I still only have two feet,” I don’t mean to be
rude. I’m tired of hearing the same thing for the bazillionth time,
and I don’t know how else to respond.
6.
Please don’t compare me to others.
I
don’t like being compared to others, especially within the family. I
gag every time someone asks, “Are you a swimmer like Hannah? She was
so good.” So what? That’s her, and I’m me, and regardless of what
people might think, we are not Siamese twins.
7.
I can’t like everything you think I should.
Dad,
you about had a cow when I mentioned not trying out for baseball. But
what I really wanted was to learn photography and practice my tennis.
I
want to learn how to walk my path, instead of simply following yours.
8.
Handle me with care.
Last
week I heard you bragging about how I had everything so together. Ha! I’ve
never felt more fragile. Everyone can see my zit-covered face and how my
body’s changing. Have you read the articles about teen depression and
suicide that I left by your chair? I’m not considering that, but I do
feel very alone. I miss the notes you used to put on my pillow. I’d
like to read one telling me you’re here for me if I ever do figure out
what it is that’s bugging me.
9.
Let me be my own age.
I’m
in a no-win situation right now. Sometimes you treat me like a child,
but when I act like a kid, you tell me to grow up and behave like an
adult. You say I’m hard to live with. Well, wear my skin for a while.
I
wish I were 18 and out of here. Or maybe I’d like to be a little kid
again. Too bad God doesn’t just let me skip all those years between 8
and 18.
10.
Role-model Jesus for me.
Don’t
be shocked when I question everything you’ve taught me, especially
about God, Christ and faith. It isn’t enough to tell me Jesus makes a
difference. I really need to see it, like when Paul told Timothy to be
an example “in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity” (1
Timothy 4:12).
Mom,
Dad, I know it’s hard. And I guess that’s the 11th and most important
thing I wish I could tell you. I really do know.
1995
Colleen L. Reece. Used by permission. This article first appeared in the
September, 1995 issue of Focus on the Family magazine. |
