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The other day my son told me he was taking off to go longboarding down Provo canyon with some friends. It was 8:00 at night and dark. And even though my boy is 21 years old, spent the last two years taking care of himself and a whole district of missionaries in southern Germany, and is capably taking on the world without me, I pretty much had a heart attack and pictured him lying bruised and broken in a heap somewhere near Bridal Veil Falls with no one but moose for company until he could be rescued in the morning.
But I forced myself to remain calm and asked whether he’d be wearing a headlamp and helmet, and would it be wise to do that in the dark when he might careen off a cliff and possibly wind up bent and crooked for the rest of his life. He said he’d be careful and it’s not that steep.
I nodded, totally respecting his adulthood and agency. Then all at once a flood of questions firehosed from my mouth. Had he finished that one research paper? What about the email to his professor? Had he sent it? Was he eating enough vegetables? What was the state of his laundry? Was he brushing his teeth at night? And how was his social life? Did he have one? Did he?
*blink*
What the heck was that?
There was a pause as I my son stared at me. I saw surprise flitter across his face, along with some irritation. Then I watched as the boy’s eyebrows made their way back down from his hairline where my barrage had slammed them. He gazed at me, took a breath, and said, “Mom. I’m going to be fine. You got nervous about me longboarding and let it launch all of your other worries about my life. It’s okay.”
Oh. Right.
And . . . What. The heck. Was that?
I mean, Number One Son was completely right. That’s what had happened. But how did he know that? And furthermore, what made him chill out long enough to figure it out and cut me that slack?
It reminded of my other son who, when he was about six years old, was being put on time-out for a bit of egregious rule-breaking. As I showed him to his room, he looked at me and said, with a shocking amount of respect for a kid that age, “Mom, this is making me feel like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe.”
Where was this coming from? My daughters are like this too. And they always were, even during the dreaded teenage years when mother/daughter conflicts can reach the fevered pitch of the cast of Cats doing battle with the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Most times when there was tension between us I could count on them to take a breath, lower their voices, and explain with carefully chosen words what they felt was unfair about the situation.
Now I would love to think this is because I am a genius parent. (And you know I am, because I spelled “genius” “genious” right before I corrected it.) By and large I haven’t been too bad. The kids and I get along well. They know they can come and talk to me about their lives. But I think it’s quite a bit more than what I’m doing. I think it has to do with this generation of people we’ve got coming around the bend lately. They feel things, and sense things, and get things that are beyond what I would expect from them. I spend a lot of time working with teenagers and young adults, and I see compassion, awareness, and a desire to do something about the world that is inspiring. It’s beyond what I noticed in my peers and myself growing up—and we were no slackers. It certainly belies all the stereotypes.
Now of course nothing and no one is perfect. And I’m not saying there are no issues with the newer generations. We live in an impatient online world and that creates all sorts of problems. But isn’t it possible that the intensity of some of the issues in the world today are down to the power of the spirits of those who are coming of age now and in the next several years? And that given the right kind of assistance and resources, that power can be turned to good, and be the force that saves this world?
Okay, that might sound a bit melodramatic, but I think it’s true. And man, does it make me feel like I have a responsibility to be patient with and respectful of my children. They are going to be the ones dealing with the fallout of everything we’ve got going on around us now. It behooves me to help them as much as I can.
Preferably without freaking out.
And making them feel like chewing gum on my shoe.
And not following them down Provo Canyon with my bike and a first aid kit.
It’s bound to come back to me.
Oh, with regard to my boy’s longboarding adventure? He called later that night to tell me they’d decided to reschedule, and I could stop worrying.
Ah. Okay. I see how this works. Good example, son.