So I had eluded in my Adoption Denial post the trouble that been happening with Garin. I figure that it might be a good exercise in processing to write about the whole situation.

Parenting teenagers is hard, I can tell you that. While Max has made it to the over 21 stage, not being the active everyday mom, I don’t have the same reference points with him at all.

The best example I have for raising kids though the teen years is my own experience and for the most part, I was a pretty horrific teen.

No. Let me rephrase that: I was extremely strong willed and stubborn, but in some ways I was 100% correct and had to deal with quite a bit of bad parenting

On the whole though, I was pretty good. I loved school and had no issue going every day. I wasn’t into after school activities or anything, but I was extremely driven in all aspects of art and was very serious about getting into Manhattan’s top art schools which I did. I didn’t cut classes unless I KNEW I could get away with it, was respectful to teachers (in fact they all loved me), and never got in trouble with the law.

That said, I was going to wear black, stay up all night painting and listening to the Cure, was going to pierce my ears as many times as I desired ( 17 thank you), would not be satisfied with my natural hair color and I will shave my head, thank you very much. In other words, back from 1983-1986, way before it was cool or popular, I was going to look like a terrible freak and embarrass my parents. THAT was their big issue.

Now they were…well, pretty nuts. My mother was narcissistic and it was all about her. (aka I looked that way purposely to make her look bad) My father was/is really was crazy and drove my mother so. Plus their marriage was on its last legs. I often think that the bond that kept them together for the last few years was “let’s gang up on Claudia”. I don’t think I ever was there, and perhaps it was a reaction to this, but being loved and accepted as an individual unconditionally really seemed to be missing and I think my rebellion was trying to force the issue.

In general, there was no way that I was going to do what I didn’t want to do.

In fact, if you told me I couldn’t do something, then I was bound to find a way to do it anyway. For example, don’t tell me I can’t go to NYC clubs, because I will make you believe that I am sleeping over a friends and I will come home on the 5:42 AM from an all nighter at Danceteria. Don’t tell me I can’t have a Mohawk, because I WILL grow my hair out to a nice normal bob and then shave underneath and no Mom, you won’t figure it out for months and then, when you do, it will only be because I rode my bike in the wind.. And really? You won’t let me have my own phone line so I can be alike any other normal teen and have you guys stop yelling at me when I am on the phone? OK, then I WILL run away from home and hold myself hostage until you meet my list of demands. Yeah, in that way…. I was bad. And that was BEOFRE I went and got myself knocked up!

So, I go into parenting knowing that I will NEVER make an issue of the way my kids look. If I did, I would be a big fat hypocrite and I hate that. I accept my kids as their own beings and not a real reflection on me. And I expect them to be into their own shallow selfish pursuits and try to get away with murder, but I don’t have a need to pretend that they are not doing what teens do. I also pretty much always tell them the truth about all kinds of things, follow their interests and, from years of preschool teaching, know how to promote self esteem like no one’s business. It was pretty realistic and it seemed to work pretty well. And only once did I catch myself saying the most hated line of my mother’s:

“You always do what you want!”

Like duh! I use to think in my head” What I’m going to do: what YOU want?” I never sad that doozy again.

Since my first marriage died its second and final death by the time Garin was 3, we had a good few years as boy and single mom. I stayed local and made sure he had a close relationship with his dad ( even if I had to force his dad to be around and I did have to do that for many years!) and was always available for the rest of the family as well, but we were like two buds for years; just him and I against the world. Even when I had a long term serious relationship (with the fiancé who announced he was gay a week after we got engaged) my romantic relationship was on weekends when Garin was usually at his dads.

Garin was very independent, balanced and smart. I always said I over did the self esteem thing with him as he has always though he was the cat’s pajamas, but some of that is probably genetic. His father’s side is like that naturally. He also hung out a lot with adults, frequently my girlfriends and I told him the truth about most stuff. So he always had a bit of an attitude, could argue like a trail lawyer, and would push you until you wanted to scream in frustration. Still, eventually logic would win out. And there were those ever important moments when one could glimpse either a bit of your own parental wisdom taking hold, or an inner kindness that reinforced that, indeed, you were raising a good person.

I had enough of those moments that I was feeling pretty good about my parenting ability.

It wasn’t a problem at all that he was really into skateboarding, I supported that. I was happy to have teenagers practicing metal and punk music in my basement. I would do my mommy duty and tape them. I was happy to dye his hair green and didn’t make him clean his disgusting room all that often. He had a kindness in him, sweetness below the rough exterior and usually, it looked like he took my pearls of wisdom to heart.

Granted, I have always wished that he was more of an “A’ personality and more driven in school, but even though he *thought* he was the first born child, I knew he wasn’t and maybe birth order did mean more than a hill of beans? And like us all, he did well in school if he actually liked he teacher and or the subject.

Sadly, Spanish never fell into either one of those categories, but being that I had to fight to drop Spanish for Art, I was proud of helping him drop stupid high school never learn anything really Spanish for more music classes. After all, by age 15 he was in like three bands, had taught himself bass, guitar and drums, and was dealing with a booking company playing real venues. To me, those are skills that one can actually DO something with in life. Trig and high school Spanish… not so much.

He was very independent and had been since age 6. He was real swell at making his own dinner even if it was “crap in a can” ( spegetios) or baked beans ( he loved them,, he really did!). He stopped asking for money after getting his own job. They liked him at work. I knew. The owner of the Taco joint is a friend and other friends worked there. It’s nice to hear that other people actually like your kid as a person. He did his own laundry and was pretty good about
understanding realities of life. Even if some of them were pretty harsh for a kid his age:

Like the constant classic: “Dude, I just don’t have money for that right now”.
· And, well… you actually DO have an older brother, but he was adopted at
birth (age 13).
· And we have to go talk to your father because he has to tell you something… no, he is not “sick” (ugg… don’t make it sound like you are dying of cancer!-tell the boy the truth!!). .. Yeah, he has to go to rehab and get the blow out of his life. (Also age 13…it is the summer he found out his parents were human and very fallible.)
· Guess what? You’re going to be a big brother and have to share your mom. (At age 9)
· And yeah, your mother’s pregnant again! (At 11)
· And, yes, you have to stop doing ALL forms of physical activity until you have the open heart surgery or you can drop dead and die! I know it will suck to be on Coumadin the rest of your life, but a mechanical aortic valve will be better than dying! (That would be the summer he was 14)

Really, he did damn well! And I thought we would be OK. I really did. I mean, the kid bounced back from open heart surgery like he had a skinned knee. It wasn’t just physical, it was amazing and mental and his attitude was great.

But- Oh, the dreaded teenage hormones and the need to rebel against SOMETHING..even if it means your mom is desperately trying to be everything to you that her parents never were to her.., or maybe it is male testosterone and pissing contests, but it’s not ok anymore and I JUST HATE IT!.

_to be continued_