My Life Among Teenagers

Spilling my thoughts about my merging, growing family

My Life Among Teenagers


I had two, now I have three. Courtesy of a merged family, courtesy of a merged lifestyle – one in limbo. No second marriage for me, just living in sin, sending a confusing message to all parties misconstrued on all sides. The parents aren’t happy, but we pretend we don’t care and we trudge forward. The kids seem happy, but misinformed, so we pretend we do care, and we muddle forward.

The boyfriend and I recently traveled to Las Vegas. Just a quickie escape on a budget pack. “Are you going to get married out there?” my sixteen year old daughter asks. “No,” I answer, too quickly. “Good,” she answers, just as quickly. “You’re not ready.” What does she know, I wonder?

My son on the other hand, has a valid reason to see an official union. “I don’t know what to call him,” he says. Good point. Significant other of mother: too long; fiancé: too hard to spell; mother’s boyfriend: not significant enough. When I figure it out, I’ll tell him. I’m paying hundreds of dollars a month in ‘individual’ counseling to figure it out. The therapist’s advice is to ‘step it up’ in our ‘couples’ counseling. In couples counseling we practice communicating dialogue at a pace designed specifically to make me crazy mentally averaging the price of the counseling by minutes spent practicing communicating. I keep writing checks and coming away feeling more and more disillusioned. So, what do I tell my kids? Our kids?

“Run like hell” I say inside. “Picking relationships is like picking shoes,” I try. “Sometimes they pinch a little and then give. Other times, they don’t fit right away. But, they should never hurt…” They look dazed and walk backwards, edging toward the computer or the phone. They seek out companionship their own age like the drowning seek out floatage.

Given the opportunity, I find they run in packs. They go to extreme circumstances to arrange contact with others. Even superficial, only met on IM, heard of you through a friend of mine, saw you once in the mall with my brother introductions. And, avoidance of Adults is a must. I’ve seen the whole herd of teenagers in my house exit by a basement door, trudge through cold and snow around the house to the garage, our makeshift teenager extension hall, just to avoid walking through the main room where The Adults were watching TV.

We’ve turned over part of our garage for this space extension. One side consists of a thrift store couch, a propane heater, and a static-y TV next to a bargain priced, soda-stocked fridge. I don’t check up on them in there. I just pray that granting them their privacy is enough for now, that they won’t take advantage while out of sight or hearing.

But, inevitably, someone comes up with an idea. And, amazingly, it’s never a good one by adult standards.

When they’re caught, it’s not really lying, I tell myself. It’s error by omission. Lying indicates I have done something wrong – raised them wrong. Been a bad example. Too much TV/violent games/caffeine. Damn, there goes that Mother of the Year Award AGAIN.

If they can’t find like kind, they isolate, keeping from adults, unless they want something – usually a ride, or money. Sleeping, electronic games, and chatting on the computer have replaced our earlier escapes of reading or playing in the cul-de-sac.

My favorite time is carpool. Somehow, I become invisible. I am only the force behind the wheel. As long as I only drive. I cannot contribute to the conversation, no matter how my ears burn and my tongue twitches. Breaking this rule upsets the fragile yet safe environment they create inside the vehicle.

When there are more than three, they talk ambiguously, keeping the conversations to poll-taking and opinion-making. What bands, what popular show or actor, what skateboard park they like, the latest trouble at school or the biggest conversation common amongst the attendees of different schools – the comparisons of quality of lunch and quantity of teacher work days.

Three or less occupants and they start to confide in one another. They are surprisingly vulnerable as they open up to each other within the confines of fiberglass, steel, and electric windows, as if their words are contained here within some hidden boundary of unspoken privilege.

As much as I hate the constant driving, I hate getting to the destination even more. My little window into their world is slammed shut as we park and reality rushes in with the outside air when they jump out the door. They scatter off with last minute instructions to me. I am invisible, but necessary, at this point in their lives. And, at this point in my life, I take what I can get.