It was a bit of a disaster and, as a parent, hard to hear.
One of our children was celebrating a milestone birthday. For weeks we had gone back and forth about “what to do.” What you “do” at modern birthday celebrations defines you to a great degree – and makes you socially acceptable or not.
While completely unfair and not true, so it goes. The problem is, today kids have done so much at such a young age that finding an acceptable teen activity was taxing. After ax throwing, ice skating and an outdoor movie were all rejected, we decided on a bayfront restaurant that had a live DJ. The kids could drive there themselves, have dinner, dance and then walk to nearby places to either hang out or get ice cream. Independence from parents was key.
It was decided – finally – and we had a winner!
The girls met at our house and then headed out for fun. But just three hours later they were back and my daughter was in my room crying. And not just a few tears, but huge sobs. Let’s just say one of the seven girls wasn’t very nice. She complained about the restaurant, the “boring” DJ, ordered piles of food she didn’t eat and was very rude to the other girls – unleashing a dark cloud over the entire night. My daughter, desperate to figure a way out for everyone to have fun, didn’t know what to do – nothing made her disgruntled guest happy.
So, there she was crying on my bed. The night was over. The pain was there and what she had feared would happen sort of did.
It’s one thing when your kid is disappointed, it’s another when you see those tears tumbling down their face and they’re not from falling off a bike and scraping a knee. That’s the kind of hurt you can’t Band-Aid.
It recalled a moment in my life where my mom sat exactly where I was sitting: on the side of the bed while I sobbed and sobbed. I hadn’t made the cheerleading squad, which in my ninth-grade mind meant I was uncoordinated, definitely not pretty and totally uncool. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was truly devastated – a complete and utter failure.
What could my mom do? Call the coach? Of course not. There was nothing she could do to fix the problem. So she sat by my side, rubbed my back and left when I was too tired to talk anymore.
Now it’s my turn. I’m in the position to share deepest hurts and losses with my kids, but at their age now, all I can do is sit there. I can’t do anything; they’re the ones who have to do the hard work. Like I did, decades ago, to muster up the courage to keep on, try again, reframe the experience and move on. It made me stronger. It made me go back a year later and try again. By senior year, I was co-captain of the team. The foundation of my character was being tested and refined.
In the ancient world, water was the archenemy of mud bricks used to create some of the most fantastic buildings and foundations uncovered by archeologists. Think Moses, the Egyptians, pyramids. Builders took great care to create mechanisms to remove water, so the brick was as strong as possible.
I feel like tears from heartbreak, mistakes and life experiences are a little like the ancient brick masters’ handiwork. The moisture is squeezed out of our innermost parts to make room for a foundation that will take us through life. Which means that every time as parents we jump in to fix the hurts, we soften that foundation.
Our Band-Aid must be our presence. We listen. We ask questions. We help direct thinking and then we step back and let our kids experiment with decision-making.
Back to the party fallout …
With a little encouragement from my husband – because, well, let’s say I might have wanted to fix the problem – my daughter drove to her dissatisfied friend’s home to confront her. She returned a few items left behind in her room and explained to this “friend” how her behavior had hurt her and how it had really impacted the gathering. The girl thought it was funny.
Lessons learned by said child? Face your problems head on and face-to-face; the character of your friends really does matter so choose wisely. And finally, be the adult in the room, even if you’re just 17.
Lest you think I have this whole “listen and ask questions” approach all figured out, another situation came up after writing my initial article draft that I want to share where I was ready and willing to jump in and fix an issue. I felt called to do it, driven even, maybe even obsessed, but you know what? I caught myself. I stepped back. I worried. I fretted. Did I mention I worried? But I kept my big mouth shut and my opinion to myself. It turned out that was a very good idea. The kid managed alone and both our foundations got a little firmer.
When wearing her work hat, Lisa Mozloom is a media and presentation training coach and PR practitioner at The M Network, but at home she is a woman passionate about raising three teens, loving her husband, and finding ways to extend hospitality and hope to those around her.