I Just Can’t Quit You

Dear Children of Mine,
I know that you don’t like me lately. No, seriously, I understand. And, I know this will be hard for you to hear, but sometimes the feeling is mutual. I know that you think that I miss the subtle eye rolls or the deep sighs or the angsty growls when your bedroom door is closed. Actually, I see and hear ALL. I’m not spying, I’m just feeling.

The mild contempt that you throw my way is not as silent or faint as you might intend. I can feel it blow towards me from the passenger seat of the car as we drive to and from school. The silence that you give back when I try to make conversation is, sorry to use a cliche, deafening.

I know that you believe that I have no idea how irritating, mean, patronizing, inflexible, dumb, lame, out-of-touch and clueless I am. Trust me, I do. You’ve told me as much in so, so many ways.

When I ask you how your day/night/movie/party/school was, I know that there’s so much more behind your answer than “good.” I can sense the nuances behind your response but also respect that sometimes one word is all I’m going to get.

See, here’s the thing, as much as you’d like me to back off/go away/stop it/leave you alone, I can’t. Not because this is always such a walk in the park for me. (Yeah, I’d like to say that being ignored and disliked is my idea of a good time.) In fact, I have to admit, that there have been times that I have wanted to walk away. There have been moments when you and I have been in the heat of a domestic battle and I’ve envisioned me, in a lounge, on a beach, with a book, only to have common sense whack me in the side of the head and yell: “Snap out of it!” I have wished that I could surrender to your whims, wishes and pleadings and just make it all stop. But I can’t.

To paraphrase a line from a recent movie: “I can’t quit you.” Sometimes I want to try, but as hard as I do, I can’t. For many reasons: Because I care. Because I was once your age. Because I once hated my parents. Because I’ve learned a thing or two in the past few years. Because I actually do understand why you’re mad. Because I remember how confusing being a teenager is and was. Because I’m still learning to parent as I go along. Because there are people out there who don’t care as much as I do. Because even when you make me so mad that I’d like to scream, I still love you. Because sometimes when you are at your worst, I look at you and see myself and know that in that moment, it’s really, really hard being you. Which is exactly why I will always be there.

Love,
Mom