People don’t interact with you the same way they did when you were little. It’s easy to gush over chubby-cheeked babies, their little feats, or their funny little faces. It’s natural to swoon over a toddler laughing or a little girl in pigtails humming a tune… I do the same—they’re so cute…
But somewhere around age 11 or 12, somewhere between changing body shapes and the appearance of pimples, people’s attitudes shift. The comments are sometimes unpleasant and imply all the flaws in your body as it transitions between two stages. They describe you as screen-addicted, cowardly, and not very resourceful. They speak arrogantly about your sometimes clumsy behaviors—behaviors that have left childhood behind without having fully entered adulthood. They no longer see the cute kid in you—the one who still secretly loves Halloween and eagerly awaits Christmas—nor do they see the person who can be trusted and is capable of handling more adult responsibilities. It’s as if you were being quarantined, just long enough to let children grow up—children who think a little more, who are searching for themselves a little more, who assert themselves a little more, who cause a little more trouble, who are learning…
Sure, there are the arms that seem too long, the soft pinch, the pimples, the breasts, and the curves that haven’t yet found their balance on a body in constant flux. Of course, there’s the slightly sharper temperament and the somewhat naive ideals of youth, but I’d like you to know just how beautiful, radiant, and refreshing I find you! You have so many dreams and desires, so many ideas. You have hope and faith in humanity… You believe in change and in everything that the generations before you believed in… Sometimes, I get the impression that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to believe in those things…
The way you see the world is so beautiful; your fresh perspective often even makes me rethink my own view. You embody change, and you express it so much better than I did at your age.
Your openness to the world is so great, and yet I feel that your self-awareness is sometimes greater than that of many adults.
Where some see opposition, I see ideas. Where some see rebellion, I see a desire to exist, to argue, and to change the world.
I’m lucky to have teenagers who are happy and full of life. I’m lucky to have teenagers who talk to me and who still make plenty of room for me in their lives. I’m lucky to have this relationship that goes beyond the mere coexistence that so many parents complain about.
I hope you never stop telling me about your lives; I want you to share your feelings with me, to still feel comfortable enough with me to express your views and tell me who you are—because now, my role is to support you… and you’re changing so fast! You have more and more opportunities to make your own decisions, and guiding you has become, for me, a time for dialogue where I hope to help you make better choices. Even if I don’t always agree, I’d rather we discuss it than impose my own view of life on you, because now your ideas can sometimes convince me, and because I trust in your abilities.Know this, my teens: I don’t claim to know everything, but I do claim to love you so much that no matter what choices you make or what ideas you have, I’ll be somewhere nearby, ready to lend a hand or a listening ear. Whether life is wonderful or difficult, I want to experience it with you. I’ll share your sorrows and joys without judgment, because watching you gently grow into young adults—while still recognizing the child I watched grow up—is one of the privileges I’ve been lucky enough to cultivate in my life since you were very little. Like the beanstalk, you’ve grown faster than I ever thought possible—strong and beautiful, my wonderful teens.