A few weeks ago, L got his license. He got up super early on a Saturday morning for the driver’s test and by 8:30 a.m., he was officially licensed to drive. Since then, I don’t think a day has gone by that he hasn’t found some reason to get in my car and drive. He has offered to get us ice cream a few times (which is much appreciated in these early days of summer), taken himself to get fast food multiple times, driven himself to work, and just generally been enjoying the freedom offered by a license and a vehicle to drive. He told me he loves to drive, windows down, music blaring, feeling the wind rush in, the music so loud you can feel the bass, the beat in your chest. How could I not remember that feeling? While our music choices are different, we share that love of being alone, having music envelop you, feeling it so deeply, while you drive.
The summer session of club wrestling started on Monday. Instead of attending the no-nonsense, hardcore club near Z’s college, he is heading further north to a wrestling club in New Hampshire. Our original plan was to accompany him on the drive up there the first few trips—it’s a good hour without traffic, more on a trafficky weeknight, and most of it is highway driving. But as these things go, particularly at this time of year, it ended up that M had a conflicting event, which both D and I wanted to attend. So on Sunday, L and I got in the car and drove the route up to New Hampshire for a practice run. Besides the few minutes when he was distracted with trying to figure out cruise control, L did a great job navigating the highway. He remarked that he found highway driving easier than the stop and go of driving around our small city and surrounds. We caught up on school and he offered some small slivers of information about his social life. It wasn’t the easy openness we used to have when we drove to piano lessons weekly, but it was conversation and sharing about what was happening in his life and I appreciated every word. After the many tense conversations of last fall, I was relieved to have an easy back and forth, no layered worry or tension.
While I checked to make sure he arrived in New Hampshire on Monday night, I wasn’t worried.
I wasn’t worried.
This is a big accomplishment for me, friends. All of the stress and worry and hand wringing and what ifs I carried last summer and fall, I had worked through and come out the other side. But damn was it hard work. In the midst of Z heading off to college, I was also trying to manage L pushing so very hard against the limits. I had floundered around, trying to find where I landed in setting those limits, how I was going to handle violations of our rules, worrying about how my parenting was being seen, how my child was being seen, wanting so desperately to find a pathway that seemed clear and right for my spirited second child. It was hard and confusing and lonely and pushed me to recognize how little control we actually have over our teenagers. We all react differently to loss of control, though most of us don’t really like it. For me, my reaction was a big huge mess of worry. In the end, I feel lucky to have a child who will not settle for half assing it—from me or anyone else—who wouldn’t accept anything less than thoughtful, deliberate parenting. Although I have never been a parent whose reasoning is “because I said so” or any other version of that, figuring out why you are making the decisions you are making with teens can be harder than it seems. I settled on three questions to ask myself when L and I go head-to-head on a whether-or not-he-should-be-allowed-to scenario:
1. Where is my worry/concern coming from? What is it centered in?
2. Is that worry fair to my child? Is it how I want them to experience me?
3. What is my goal and how am I going to best achieve that/communicate it to my child?
It took me a long time to get here. And it wasn’t without cost. But six months of really sorting through all the feelings, the worry, the things that belonged to a teenage life I lived more than 30 years ago, the fear of judgment of me and worse, my son, brought me to a place where I can let go a little more. I can fully lean into trusting him until he gives me reason not to, prioritizing honesty over punishment, talking with him about consequences and letting him test out his decisions, remembering that his job is first and foremost still about learning, which means sometimes—perhaps even often—he will get it wrong.
And doing that work doesn’t just benefit L, it also means that instead of having to split parenting responsibilities with one of us accompanying L on the drive to New Hampshire, we both got to be at the middle school drama banquet and 8th grade awards. (If you aren’t a theater person, you may be tired of my rhapsodizing about the power of theater. So be forewarned, I am going to go hard on this again. You can just stop reading here. But if you were a theater kid or have a theater kid or just love theater as a spectator or love to see middle school kids celebrating and accepting each other, I think you will relate.)
M is the youngest, the third child, the baby. I have shared before that as a toddler and preschooler, his nickname was Smiles, because he was almost always happy. He came after L who liked to command a room from the time he was a small child. Perhaps it is no surprise then that M is sensitive to being too much, asking for too much, taking up too much space. It is something I hate to see as I have struggled with similar feelings most of my life and know what an impediment it can be to getting what you need in life. At any rate, all of this means it has always been important to me to ensure we were not forgetting him. It’s easy with the third to feel worn out, to be over the awards ceremonies and seasonal concerts because you have already attended so many. But seeing M on stage performing is no less joyful for me now than it was the first time I saw Z on stage so many years ago.
And my quiet, reserved boy just blossomed on stage this year. He took center stage as Patrick Star, BFF of the infamous SpongeBob SquarePants this past fall. I loved every minute of watching this boy find his voice and shine. Not only did he find his voice, but he also found his people. He has had a harder time than his brothers with finding his crowd. He had just started to feel comfortable with a crew of kids when COVID hit and those connections didn’t stick in the way I think we both hoped they would. M has struggled to find his place, his people. But this year, things just seemed to click more fully into place.
Part of this is because our middle school program is run by an absolute gem of a human being, Ms. L. She is one of those superheros that deserves all the accolades, one of those teachers who will be remembered by students as the adult that really got them, made space for them to be their authentic selves (which in middle school can be quite the fluid space, let’s be honest). This woman can not only put on an amazing production, she does it with more than 100 middle school students on the stage and about half as many in production behind the curtain. If you haven’t spent time with 11 to 14 year olds lately, let me just remind you that this may be one of the hardest ages to be a human. Bodies are changing, voices are deepening, hormones are surging and depleting and surging again, and all these FEELINGS. Theater kids are often the ones who notice and express those feelings. They are quirky and unique and loud and quiet and love to get up on stage and sing and dance and act. Or be back stage and run lights or sound or make sure all the scenery gets on and off stage when needed. Or that the actors have the props they need or costumes or makeup or hair that will transform them from an awkward 13-year-old kid into a squirrel girl with superhero powers. They all come together to form a community, put on a show, transport us to another world, another place, an escape. And there is a lot of drama in drama, to be sure. Last year, I was helping a friend out with costumes. The number of students who ended up tearful or disappointed or embarrassed was high. But Ms. L came back stage and talked to each student with such kindness and sensibility, the tears were more easily choked back, the disappointment tempered, the embarrassment addressed. She knows how to truly listen and meet these kids where they are. In the midst of so many emotional and physical changes, she is a calming, steady presence.
Several years ago, when I was doing healthcare consulting, I worked with hospitals and other healthcare settings to help them implement trauma-informed practice. Even then, the percentage of individuals who had experienced trauma was so high, ensuring healthcare facilities are sensitive to their needs is essential to good care. Now, with our world having gone through a global pandemic, it would be hard to find someone who has not experienced the trauma of that experience. Trauma-informed practice is now synonymous with good, responsive care. The basic principles of trauma-informed practice include: ensuring safety, providing clear expectations, maintaining consistent boundaries, providing choice, engaging in shared decision-making, and emphasizing strengths and skills. When clients or patients feel safe in their environment, are given clear explanations of what to expect from their visit or procedure, feel like they have agency in their healthcare decisions and are asked to share in the decisions available, and feel heard and understood, things go better for everyone from staff to providers to clients and patients.
The first time I watched Ms. L conduct a rehearsal with more than 150 middle school students, I realized that she was using these principles in working with the students. Students felt safe with her. She respected them and knew each one of them by name. She created an environment in which they knew kindness was paramount, that while theater does involve auditions and some people will get big parts and others will get smaller parts, she did not always cast the same students in leads. She gave many students opportunities to take on larger roles. Ms. L is an excellent communicator. She is clear about what is expected, when it is expected, where to find the information you need to complete any task, and how you can let her know if you can’t meet those deadlines. Students know what is expected of them and how they will be treated in her rehearsals. She prioritizes students feeling comfortable over uniformity. When one of the students was upset about her costume, Ms. L asked her what she had at home that she would feel comfortable wearing. And that is what the student wore for the show. And more than anything else, Ms. L values these students and she emphasizes their tremendous skills and talents. When students feel so recognized and seen, when they know their teacher and director is maintaining an environment that is safe and kind, when they know her goal is for them to have fun coming together as a community to put on a show, it cannot help but result in a wonderful production.
On Monday, the beloved Ms. L put on a banquet for her drama students. She gave an award to every single one of the 63 eighth grade students graduating this year. These awards were not best actor or most improved actor or best stage manager. No, these awards were specific to each student. The awards had names such as “Best Beat Work” and “Depth and Dimension Award.” With each award, she read out two to three sentences about why she had given the award to this student. And as each student got up from their seat and bounded up the stairs on to the stage to accept their award, the students in the audience exploded into cheers. For every single student. Not one child had a lackluster reception. These kids are part of a community that emphasizes the importance of each one of them. And they take that seriously. The night continued with show announcements for next year, including a performance by the 8th grade and Ms. L and her fabulous brother, who does choreography for the shows. The 7th graders did an annual roast of the graduates that they wrote and performed. And my very own M had put together a video celebrating their season. Not a dry eye among these emotive, expressive drama kids.
It was beautiful. Ms. L is everything you want a teacher to be for your child. Someone who sees them and recognizes a unique quality they have and celebrates it. With all the many demands on teachers and humans in this world, to have a teacher who puts so much into her job, who loves these kids so dearly, it means the world to me.
Our kids have been through so much. COVID turned their lives upside down and inside out. The normal routines and milestones of childhood were upended and for a time, we didn’t know when or if things would return to a recognizable state. We have come through the hardest parts, lives have resumed a rhythm and routine that feels relatively normal. But we have all been changed, we have all been through trauma. And we are not the same. We hear about the rise in mental health challenges for students, the greater number of kids needing more support in schools that are already strapped well beyond their resources. Most social network have not rebounded fully. We can read any number of terrifying cautionary tales about the dangers of all the time our kids spend online. Our kids need community and connection and support more than ever. And for the students in my city’s middle school, they have that and more in the most healing environment one could wish for: the middle school drama program, lead by a superhero named Ms. L.
All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.
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