The Hopeful Helplessness of Parenting

Parenting a teenager is the most humbling experience I’ve lived so far. That might surprise you if you knew exactly how many excruciating, humbling experiences I’ve grown through in my forty-seven years. My son is an empathetic, perceptive, social, and intuitive person. It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me. The other day, I posted on Threads, “I had no idea raising a teenager would be such a direct mirror of my unhealed adolescence. . . It’s an improv episode of “Gilmore Girls” with more stammering than witty dialogue.” people responded kindly, saying that they too, are being stretched into growth while raising a young person in today’s world.

So much about my own adolescence, and my parents’ reactions to my decisions and attitudes makes sense now. They were both trauma survivors, my dad was a well-known pastor—a tricky combo for our family. They wanted to protect me from so much, and struggled to give me the emotional tools they were still trying acquire for themselves. Like many of their generation, their own parents provided little emotional awareness, which wounded both of them deeply. As I mentioned in last week’s post, we didn’t have a television for many years. It was as much a financial situation as it was a moral one. When we finally did get one, we used it only for VHS tape viewing, and our options were limited. My dad has always been a music fan, and played in beach bands in high school and college, so he allowed a second-hand copy of “The Rolling Stone 20 Years of Rock and Roll” into our home. My younger brother Scott and I watched the four hour film countless times. Our minds were blown, our narrow world view expanded. In high school, when I began developing my own musical tastes, (lots of R.E.M., Indigo Girls, The Cure, Sinead O Connor, etc…), Dad asked me to bring my tapes in the car so he could listen to what I liked. He didn’t flinch when he found a copy of the hardcore punk band, Agnostic Front in my bedroom. He just asked what I thought about it. (In truth, it was handed to me by a crush, and it wasn’t really my taste.) But his accepting conversations with me about music formed a lasting bond between us.

Lately, I’ve been looking for more experiences Finn and I can share together, so I can meet him where he is. Freshman year brings overwhelming change and transition. I remember how I was so painfully insecure and desperate for acceptance. We’ve started going on one date each week while he is in my home. (He lives half the time with his father.) I expected him to grumble and groan about doing things with his mom, but so far, that hasn’t been the case at all. I’ve been relieved to find him engaged and conversational. I’m sure he loves the switch of focus from my warning talks in the car about school, drugs, sex, and overall safety. It gives us a new way to connect, and maybe more importantly, it’s fun.

This week, we went to the SOUTHERN/MODERN show at the Frist Museum, here in Nashville.

This was one of my favourite paintings, titled, “Georgia Red Clay”, by Nell Choate Jones, painted in 1946. I love the graphic nature of the red dirt road, and the brushwork of the trees remind me of Van Gogh’s cypresses for some reason.

Finn liked this one by Thomas Hart Benton, titled, “Ozark Autumn”, painted in 1949. He said he is drawn to more surreal type paintings. I wouldn’t have known this if we hadn’t taken the trip to the exhibit. We both agreed that we want to continue visiting the museum, exploring other exhibits. It was also quite poignant to have conversations with him about our complex Southern history, something I didn’t experience as a child growing up in Tennessee.

Yesterday, I roped him into a personal creative endeavour. In writing my latest novel set in Florence, Italy, I’ve become interested in paper marbling and book binding.

Here are some of our finished papers:

I don’t know why it took me so long to find creative projects for us to share. I’ve always known art is healing, and Finn and I used to do all kinds of art together when he was in grade school. It’s been a great reminder that we shouldn’t stop creating together just because he is a teenager now, developing other interests. It is a great way for me to learn what is going on in his head and his heart without sitting him down for another dreaded serious conversation.

I’d love to hear about the creative experiences you’ve shared with others that contributed to your relationship with them. . .