A Shared Responsibility

Thanksgiving break has given me more down time than I usually have. Much of it has been spent with my son. He's 12 and from all accounts -- especially his account -- doesn't need his mom's advice nearly as much as he used to. In talking with one of my dearest friends about my son and his moodiness, she reminded me some of this could be related to his age.

What? No way.

But then I remembered, yes way. He's 12. He's in middle school. Some of this could be adolescence.

There are days he is convinced nothing good is happening.
Then there are other days he is extremely grateful.
There are hours where he needs an enormous amount of attention.
Then there are other hours where he can become engulfed in a project.

I try to remember what being his age was like and recall parts of past conversations.

"Don't do this because..."
"You'll have trouble with this because..."
"No one likes you."
"You don't have what the other kids have."
"You're not very smart".

Some of those past conversations were with adults in my life. Some of the conversations were with myself. I should be embarrassed to admit that but I'm not. I include it here as a way of relating, I hope, to what my son is going through.

When we talk, I try to share how far off I was with meeting (everyone else's) expectations. If you believe in any preconceived notion about poverty or fatherless daughters, then you might have predicted (way back then) I might never meet my goals of becoming an educator.

I can recall meeting with my high school guidance counselor and telling him I wanted to go to college to become a teacher. I had never met my guidance counselor before but it was my junior year, I think, and someone was requiring him to meet with all of the students. He barely looked up from my transcript and told me that wasn't likely. He didn't see me as a teacher.

It's funny now to recall that memory. But, it wasn't funny then. It was painful. Some 29 years later and I can recall that interaction -- a piece of it.

I guess that's why I find myself up early on a Saturday morning thinking about my son, his journey and adolescence in general. I think as parents we walk a fine line supporting our children but also letting them begin to grow wings. Sometimes growing wings includes making mistakes. Some of them over and over.

Like other students his age, he reads into interactions with all of the adults in his life and can name only a few he trusts. I push him to explain how one earns trust from him.

"They accept me, Mom. You can see it in their eyes, the way they look at me."

No amount of reasoning on my part gets him past that explanation and it crushes me. In my quiet thoughts this morning, I realize how these eyes (of many others) will become his memories. I am also aware that he has more people in his corner than he admitted to but getting him to see them will be a process. I'm thankful for the supportive teachers and adults waiting patiently in his corner to be noticed (by him). I know they are there and am grateful for their patience.

I begin to think about all of the kids in my own little world that need us to support them through this tumultuous time. When our students look back on us -- when our children look back on our work -- I want them to recall phrases and faces of love, support, and forgiveness. We can't pretend to know which part of our memories our students and children will recall as snippets of the past. But, we can work harder and more deliberately to help them feel loved, accepted, supported, forgiven and noticed.

It's a shared responsibility like no other.