Raising Children, Razing Parents

For those of us that have acquired or have been acquired by a second family, SPAS (Step Parent Aberrational Syndrome) is a common malady. In my own case, I parented my 16-year-old daughter nearly 30 years ago and I was ill prepared for more modern experiences. More troubling are my recollections that my own daughter at age 16 was perfect in every way, sailing effortlessly through her adolescence with little strain on her parents. Now I am enduring the travails of living with another 16-year-old girl-child in a world that is totally alien to me. 

But these are modern times, infiltrated with and complicated by technology. (I admit, I am currently under treatment for SPAS, having gone off the deep end because off my inability to converse with the resident 16-year-old in our abode.) Any attempt at dialog is simultaneously accompanied by hyper-speed typing on the keys of her Blackberry. Short responses to any question are always monosyllabic while relentless typing continues uninterrupted. I am certain the Blackberry is attached to her palm with Velcro, and it is only removed for charging the battery and sometimes for sleeping. 

One recent weekend morning, we had a fire in our apartment building and she had been awakened to save her life. She emerged from her room, Blackberry firmly attached to her palm and immediately began conveying text messages, maneuvering the keys like a concert pianist. 

I was proud, she was notifying her friends that I had saved her life. But as we waited on the balcony for the fire trucks, it seems the nature of the texts involved questioning the unfashionable circumstances of being awakened before noon on a weekend by someone who actually believed she was in danger. 

Occasionally I stop in her room and find the TV tuned to a movie with moderate audio, her stereo playing at full volume, the computer open to Facebook with all kinds of important social networking taking place, her Blackberry and home phone nearby in case anyone chooses a more antiquated form of communication. I once asked if gadget overload ever crossed her mind? Her reply: “I am just multitasking in preparation for the real world and the challenges I will face.” I told her, “in my youth, multitasking meant drinking a glass of milk while eating cookies at the same time.” 

Ultimately, I had no choice but to acclimate myself and accept teenage technological superiority. It was probably comparable to our parent’s feelings about radio and TV. On the other hand, I recently read an article about Facebook Addiction Disorder, which is now one of the most prevalent obsessions psychologists treat in young adults. Some articles claim that the personal choice has been removed from the individual and choices had become a dictate of machines. I felt a lecture enlightening the youngster was my duty, but it was met with facial skepticism and a brief giggle. 

My next adventure was the acclimation to the local dress code for young ladies. Here in Argentina the teenagers definitely dress differently than back home in Colorado or even New York. On any given party night our 16-year-old emerges from her room with a skirt too short, with heels too high, with earrings too flashy and cleavage too daring. As I do not enjoy fashion vogue status in the household, I immediately notify her mother to inform her daughter that at 16 she does not need to be a seductress. In the midst of the argument, three girlfriends arrive, each one with a shorter skirt, higher heels, huge hoop earrings and more cleavage. I retire to my room, take a Xanax and lie down. 

Rearing children is a harrowing task and rearing one with whom one is not genetically connected is even more challenging. In spite of my belief that this teenager has been spoiled and raised with a sense of entitlement, I cannot help but be proud of her accomplishments and happy as good things trickle into her life. I realize she sees me as a Neanderthal with parenting skills oscillating between Homer Simpson and Charlie Sheen, but almost all teenagers consider themselves smarter and more able to cope than their parents. 

I expect male suitors to show up at the door, soon, and my overprotective nature will likely ruin all of her intended liaises. As in the case of my own daughter, I doubt any of the boys will meet the high standards I have formulated for a male companion. Knowing full well how young men think, there could be blood and broken bones at the doorstep before a suitor even introduces himself. But the local dating hour starts at midnight, and I would most likely be snug under the covers, avoiding any serious encounter.

 

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Tags: Sweet 16, Teenage Technology