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by Audrey McCollum In recent years, atrociously violent acts have been committed by U.S. teenagers, preponderantly male. Anxious parents have asked themselves, "Could my kid have done such an awful thing? Does he have a dark side I don't know about?" That question is urgent in our convoluted society. Hopefully, it will spur parents to reflect deeply about successes and failures in raising their sons. The difference between "those boys" and "our boys" may not be as great as we would like to believe. I can recall successes and a panoply of failures. For example, one day, our pre-teen boy (now grown and living in another state) was strangely pale after emerging from Woolworth's in our Connecticut mall. He slid into the car clutching a small, worn paper bag. He received a personal spending allowance and I rarely asked how he used it. But now his odd demeanor led me to ask what he had bought. He showed me a miniature car, but no sales slip was visible. "Did you pay for it?" I asked, knowing that an older buddy had recently been shoplifting. He shook his head. "Then you have to take it back," I said and watched as he re-entered Woolworth's looking scared. He returned empty-handed, and told me he had put it on a counter. "We'll talk about it at home," said I, a mental health clinician. Bad judgement, that postponement. Our son's rudeness escalated all the way home until he provoked me to blow my stack as we arrived. He had needed a swift, sharp rebuke at the mall, later followed by discussion of theft and then a forgiving hug. Instead he endured a diatribe and probably tuned me out, although he did explain that his buddy had dared him to steal. A few years later, my involvement was even more ill-judged. At a ski-racing camp, our son accepted marijuana from a teammate and was caught. The punishment imposed by coaches was exclusion from a major race. His disappointment was so profound that I intervened, imploring the senior coach to overlook this sole transgression. He stood firm, and rightly so. In both cases, I failed to reinforce constructively our son's uncertain morality. Yet, being on the scene, I did learn of his vulnerability to destructive influences that could have shaped a "dark side" in his make-up. I had always shaped my professional life so I was home when the school bus arrived. My part-time schedule meant declining opportunities to attend prestigious conferences. But no conferences would have been treasured as much as the after-school walks my son and I took together in surrounding woods. With tension released through our muscles and eye-contact not required, he freely recounted the joys and disappointments of his days. And when, occasionally, we strayed off an ill-defined trail, his unerring sense of direction allowed him to rescue his mom from her dread of being lost, and bolstered his sense of competence. His dad defied the conventions of the 1970s too, by-passing some opportunities for professional distinction in favor of family doings. Although our son doubtless had dreams and dreads he never confided, his dad and I felt joyfully involved in his life--our blunders notwithstanding. Increasingly, our society seems driven by an ethos of competition and conquest. Furthermore, research into brain development has stressed the importance of stimulation during the first three years of life. (I have felt twinges of concern about grandsons who "listened" to Mozart in utero--Itzhak Perlman, watch out!) Both phenomena have led to what Steve Nelson (Valley News March 3 '02) describes as overinvolvement--others term if "hyperparenting;" namely, relentless pressure on children to achieve in literacy, arts, sports---win, win, win--beginning at an early age. I believe, though, that overinvolvement often reflects underinvolvement, paradoxical as that seems. That is, a consuming focus on achievement, on producing "trophy children," leads parents to short-change the time and opportunity for spontaneous, unstructured communication--those precious moments when youngsters allow parents into their private inner worlds. Does that mean that parental reins should be cut or greatly loosened, as Nelson proposes? I think not. Teens do need time to dream, to play scoreless games, to challenge themselves, to discover themselves. But our society is riddled with noxious influences, images of violence and sadistic sex packaged to lure youngsters whose developmentally-shaped instability renders them highly vulnerable. Teenagers are impulse-ridden, confused and confusing, sensitive to feeling "dissed." They are also altruistic, idealistic, affectionate, and hungry for positive recognition. Although unspoken, even denied, their need is intense for parents who are physically and emotionally available; parents who can tolerate alternately being shut out then let in, who model clear values, who allow choices but expect to know what they are, who admit their own mistakes and say, "I'm truly sorry." These parents are constructively involved with their young. Such relationships often have a cost. They may require parents whose basic material needs are met to stifle desires for more income and more consumer goods--hard when crafty ads persuade us that luxury brings happiness. They may demand postponement of a desirable promotion or other recognition. They may necessitate pressuring businesses and politicians to guarantee family-friendly employment practices. And parents need support for themselves, especially since their teens' crises often coincide with their own mid-life crises. They need collaboration with all the resources in their community--teachers, counselors, clergy, coaches, and police. The challenge is intense, but boyhood is fleeting. Few rewards can surpass that of helping to mold a loving, productive, and conscientious young man.
Audrey McCollum is a clinical social worker and free-lance writer. |