School’s In!

While my fourteen-year-old son Ax and I were driving to school this morning I commented that perhaps he could try to drink something during the day even though the  water bottle I offered him to bring to school had been rejected.

“What do you mean?” He said.

“Well, you mentioned you’ve been tired lately and it’s been very warm out and your father and I think you might be going through another growth spurt, so like a flower maybe some hydration during the day would help you bloom into the fullness of your greatness.”

Silence.

“Are there water fountains at school?”

“Yeah, but they’re in the hallway so there’s no time to drink from them.”

“What about at lunchtime?”

“Then we’re in the quad.”

“What about on your way to or from the quad? Could you find a few seconds to drink some water?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ax,” I said, “you are a smart, capable person. I believe in you and I believe that you can figure out a way to drink something during the day.”

Again, silence.

I wonder what he hears when I speak. I wonder if he hears anything or just a yammering nagging vibe? I wonder if basic health is one of those things I’m supposed to let go of now that he’s a teenager — just let my sweet child dehydrate for his own good?!?

I realize all the books, the workshops, the psychology experts I’ve consulted over the years in preparation for being the best conscious parent ever of a teenager (and to heal my own teenage stuff) are like bringing a water pistol to a knife fight.

I want connection. I’m programmed to take care of him. He wants independence. He’s programmed to fly on his own. We get to navigate the shifting tide of this time together. I let go of the water drinking issue. He probably won’t die.

The noise of his favorite band blares loudly in the car as he screams along joyfully, seemingly oblivious to my concern for his baseline physical health. His voice is bizarrely deep. I join in the sing/screaming, which he seems to enjoy.

And then: “Ax, can I put this conversation in my blog?”

“Sure.” he comments, and goes back to singing.

I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. And then he’s out of the car. Off to do his day.

I’m gonna keep going.