The clothes make the teen (man)
There was the suspender phase. And the bow-tie phase. And the tie-dye phase (which has yet to end). Ripped jeans? Ever in fashion. Likewise, the torn and worn leather jacket.
Apparently, one has moved on to a taste for preppy classics: neat sweaters (to my relief) and strangely, argyle socks. The other? Along with hipster humor (which required illustrated explanation), there appeared an oversize hat, dangling earphones around the neck, and more or less – anything for a laugh.
And still, for both my sons, whatever is graspable from the heap known as clean laundry.
The clothes make the man, as they say. And when it comes to teenagers, the “men” themselves are clearly still in the making.
Boy Teens
I do not profess to understand much about my sons these days. Not the ins and outs of changing interests, the extraordinary speed with which a new musical group is lauded, lingo I cannot begin to comprehend, and certainly not the whereabouts of emotions I once recognized which now seem tucked behind some untouchable screen. And transformed.
Both boys are generally cool under fire, cagey and mocking, funny and occasionally defiant, courteous and increasingly alien. As for the feelings and expressions I could once read like the back of my hand – where did they go, and when might they be back?
Socks and Hats
The socks crack me up, and certainly make for expressions of subtle sartorial splendor. There have been discussions of tube socks, athletic socks, ankle socks, how I always buy the wrong socks, along with disappearing shirts and the latest in nifty new ties. There’s a woolen hat with eyes and ears, another one that pulls down almost to the nose, to which (chuckling) I say: no comment, and no comment.
Comedic flair? We’re there.
I don’t understand men
Last evening a friend mentions he’s going to watch “man movies” and I think I know what that is but I’m not sure, as I live in a land of French films, indie films, and the ever engaging chick flick.
Martial arts? Booty calls? And yes, the answer I get involves a manly mix of explosions, car chases, and hot women. Very Bond. James Bond.
Last evening, hungrily, I consume something more to my liking – the first episode of this season’s Californication. What can I say? David Duchovny is a delight as Hank Moody. The Bad Boy-Good Guy – appealing, appalling, talented, tawdry – the quintessential cocktail of character contradictions, with that touch of vulnerability that brings many a woman to her knees.
And I tell myself as I shake my head: I don’t understand men.
Persuasion Occasion
Californication over, I am basking in a brief moment to read (an actual book), as one lanky teen breaks into my bubble and tells me he’s headed off into the night as snow blankets the city. I get the other on the phone, already frolicking with friends (and my car), elsewhere in town.
And thus, the fight ensues.
It is yours truly – engaged in voice raising (not my usual), irritation at the hour (with good reason), and the determined duo gangs up on me. One stands at my side staring like I’m nuts because I don’t want them wandering the streets in the middle of the night. The other is nonplussed, working his winning ways with me by cell phone. He returns home a half hour later with my car, then takes off with his brother on foot. They exit grinning – woolen hats on, scarves at the ready, and no doubt, argyle socks underneath it all.
Boys to Men
Yes, I agreed to their departure last evening (they are yet to show their faces, but I know where they spent the night).
More accurately, I caved out of fatigue. They repeat, with growing frequency, that they aren’t kids any longer, and I’m well aware, while recognizing plentiful behaviors that offer evidence to the contrary.
Frankly – they don’t get it. Likewise, I don’t get it. So I relent in particular when they team up, knowing I can no more walk in their shoes than they can in mine. As boys turn into men, my boys – I am reminded that this is exactly what I hoped for. Independence. Playfulness. Maturing, and enjoying their moments.
If only it didn’t leave a kind of ache, and one that – for so many reasons – I cannot begin to articulate.
© D A Wolf
So these are the challenges I have to look forward to? We have potty training on the near horizon. As messy as I know that’s going to be, I think I’d pick it over willfull adolscents. I’m not ready for teens yet. That’s a battle front that requires years of training I don’t yet have. 🙂
🙂 Toddlerhood is good preparation for adolescence. You’d be surprised.
Then that all passes and before you know it they’re adults, out on their own, with jobs and responsibilities and, if you’re really lucky, they’re still your sons but they’re also friends.
Oh the arguing! Mine wears me down with the constant assaults until I cave as well. It’s not my preferred way to parent, but sometimes I need to step back before I open my mouth and say no or oppose their plans.
And, the ache of them growing – I experienced a pang of that myself this weekend as two of the three boys can now out-ski me. Of course I always wanted them to do better than me – that’s the objective of most parents. But when it happens, it makes you realize that they’re starting to really be their own people and move on.
Hey, wait a second, I thought boys were supposed to get easier as they get older. And here I’ve been thinking that it might be nice to have a hat trick of boys, but now suddenly you have me reconsidering. Maybe I should hope for a girl?
Silliness aside, I sense here a version of the same feelings I have every time I realize that my kids are individuating – in ways both reassuring and terrifying. I can only imagine the ways in which that process becomes more difficult as they become adults, capable of doing things like dressing themselves, driving, and intelligently debating.
I can see the beginning outlines of this in my son, newly 10. He has yet to care about the socks or hats, but he negotiates fiercely for the skinny jeans, studded belt, perfect hoodie, newest skate shoes. The teen years are swiftly headed our way.
@Kelly, @Kristen, @Cathy – I know this is empty nest as it bears down on me. Surprising me, because I’ve always encouraged their independence, and as much as possible, clung to my own. I think its weight is harder, as a single parent. Harder still, as a somewhat “older” single parent (when I’m willing to admit to it). Empty nest really will be empty. It is the way of things, but a little frightening, nonetheless.
Maybe I just need some good, warm argyles. 😉
Love argyle. And love this post. Full of a well-articulated and lovely ache indeed.
Leaves me speechless. My boy is eight and is a handful. He’s always been a handful. I think it’s going to get easier when he gets to the next stage, and when he gets there, it gets harder. And did anyone read what the Chinese mother wrote in the Wall St. Journal the other day: http://on.wsj.com/hYhS79. Next life, a goldfish. A turtle, maybe.
Loved this post. I liked that your sons seem to have fun together, at least they left together with smiles, even if they ganged up on you! My sons, 12 and 14, are great friends which is reassuring to me–they will have each other.
Wolf P, I did indeed read the ‘Chinese mother’ story. Lordy that was scary. It is this ‘win at all cost, self advancement’ that will doom our society. It’s all we need–more anxious, self absorbed, unbalanced people unable to love or form real relationships.
That was quite an interesting article, wasn’t it? (Nice to hear from you, Jenn. Hope all’s well and happy new year!)