Category Archives: Teenagers

Be the one.

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Saleha, my oldest daughter texted me, “I’m in fucking Rockville, I’m angry and nauseous.”

“Want to talk?”

She kept going.

“This lady said she was a better immigrant because she’s white and from a European country. And that I’ve been brainwashed by the media to think that what’s happening at the border is bad. And she told us that we had no idea because we’re not immigrants. I told her I was a child of an immigrant, but she told us how bad SHE had it and that whatever is happening now isn’t as bad.”

“At what point did you walk away?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking. I interrupted her at some point and said have a nice day. Next time I’m going to tell people that I hope they are capable of developing some compassion.”

Saleha is canvassing for the ACLU this summer, raising money for immigration and abortion rights. She wanted to help the best way possible in a short period of time, and she’s one of the top fundraisers on her team. She’s never done this before. She’s studying to be a biomedical engineer, and her team is filled with passionate and determined young adults who aspire to be lawyers, journalists, activists. Saleha looks white. Her black teammates don’t raise as much money. Her canvassing partner is black AND bi-sexual. That’s two strikes against him.

When she decided to do this, I knew she was going to get a very quick lesson on humanity – the good, bad and ugly. There have been a lot of good days. Like when that little kid gave her a penny for the cause, when a guy gave her his last $20, and when people filled up her water bottle on those hot humid days.

Then there are days that leave her angry and nauseous. It breaks my heart, she’s my daughter.

Hate swirls around us each day. Hate makes us angry and invites an infinite amount of negative energy into our lives. And it’s easy to give in to hate.

It’s so easy to hate the people who support the cruel treatment of children at the border. Have you ever felt helpless when your little baby has a fever? Do you hold and comfort your toddler when she wakes up with night terrors? Have you ever felt like you can’t breathe when your teenager goes missing for a few hours?

It’s so easy to hate the people who dismiss the black men and boys who are killed by cops. Have you ever listened to a black mother lecture her teenager before he leaves the house in the morning, so he won’t get killed by a cop? And feel her fear that he won’t come home from school?

It’s so easy to hate the people who think my gay, lesbian and transgender friends are immoral. Do you have friends in this community? Are they kind and respectful human beings? Have you ever been awed by their strength and grace for being proud of who they are despite the amount of hate they receive?

It’s so easy to hate the people who don’t believe women who’ve been raped. Are you a woman? Have you ever been sexually assaulted? Do you remember every single detail like it was yesterday, even if it happened 30 years ago? Wait, what? You’ve never been sexually assaulted? Hang on, you’re a man? Then fuck you.

It’s so easy to hate the racists. Have you ever avoided reading stories of white people proudly declaring their superiority as they are celebrated by leaders and politicians? Have you ever just closed your eyes and tried to wish these stories are fake?

See? It’s so easy to give in to hate. If I do, I can be just like them. Hateful. Angry.

The next day, I picked up Saleha from work. And we had our usual 10:30pm chat. The only time during the week I get to see and talk with her this summer.

“I met a really nice guy who believed the ACLU will change the world, and also a really nice and cute old lady who could only see with one eye. And at this one house, after I got a donation from this woman, her daughter gave me a big hug.  It made me want to cry. Today was infinitely better than yesterday.”

“Maybe that’s what we need to do. To be the one who makes others see that this world has good people. To help others see that there is love around us, not just hate. To be the one that makes others feel disproportionately happy with acts of kindness. To be the one that you tell your mom about at the end of the day.”

Saleha’s experience taught me that I can’t avoid the hate and there are many people who need help. She dived in with the best way she knew how to help. She’s unapologetic about her beliefs and is very outspoken about them. I hope that one day I can be as brave as her. But until then, I can be the one.

“I’m glad this is your last week of work.”

“Me too.”

FORCE FIELD

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My oldest child is leaving me. She’s flying into the future, outside my force field. I won’t be able to protect her. It doesn’t feel natural, but here we are. My herd is shrinking and my heart is breaking.

My mother did it, as did my father, both my brothers, and me. We all traveled thousands of miles from home to learn, to be uncomfortable with change, to sleep in new beds, to make new friends, to walk with strangers, and sometimes to eat dinner alone. Now it’s her turn. She is traveling 378 miles, and my force field can’t reach that far. This is natural, I’m told.

Her departure date is coming fast, and I’m trying to step around this new sadness. When I allow my toes to dip into it, I’m simply overcome. How is this natural?

When I left home 30 years ago, the shock of feeling so alone among hundreds of students lingered for months. I didn’t dare speak much and the loneliness was crippling. Yet somehow, I lived, learned, and discovered. Not all my discoveries were good, some were quite painful. And I had no force field.

She won’t have a force field either. And she may be so lonely, sad, and homesick. Ohhh.

It won’t last, trust me.

But I don’t want her to suffer for one second.

She has to learn.

I have to learn.

Oh, how I love you Saleha Mai. I must let you go, I know. I want you to see the world and meet many people who will open your heart and your mind. I want you to surround yourself with people you respect, who also will help you reach your stars.

Don’t be stingy with love, and try to love yourself as much as others love you. Always be kind and gentle to those who need it, but most of all, be kind and gentle to yourself. And remember, if you build yourself a strong sisterhood, and you will have an army to fight your life battles with you.

And never forget when you have to lick your wounds, heal your heart, or rest your soul, you can always come home to be loved and soothed. My force field will always protect you.

Love

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It’s not enough. 

To just love is not enough to raise a happy child.

I am guided by love that allows me to feel her sadness, and to always know where to find that missing shoe. This love also allows me to offer up the last juicy shrimp in my bowl, and to know exactly how much salt to put on her eggs. Every time.

It’s not enough.

My legs and my heart, they’re a little wobbly. It’s getting harder to stand back up when I get knocked down by this growing, beautiful child. Her cold shoulder and harsh words overwhelm me, they make me weak. I should hide so she won’t have a target. Oh my love.

It’s not enough.

I am her ugly monster. The source of her anxiety, her stress, and everything that is wrong with her life. I can’t be spoken to, trusted, or treated like a loved one. But I have so much love.

It’s not enough.

Stay low, move quietly, and avoid direct contact. I need to repair the damage within and protect my fragile, cracking shell. She needs more than love.

It’s not enough.

BIG APPLE

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All I had to do was take Saleha to New York. Not to Africa. And not to Haiti, where I recently saw firsthand what abject poverty looks like. It was in New York, where she learned that she can help poor and hungry people. It is a big leap for a privileged first-world teenager, who was in New York to celebrate her birthday by eating good food, shopping and sightseeing. A teenager–like thousands of others who walk on this planet in a bubble with their heads bowed to their personal electronic devices.

It started that first night with a full belly when she decided to give her leftovers to the first homeless person she saw. Twenty steps later, a very grateful woman took it, her sign declared she had three hungry children. As we walked away, Saleha declared…

…I feel bad.

Well, do you have money?

Yes.

Why don’t you buy her a meal?

Saleha’s offer was graciously turned down repeatedly. Dejected, she walked away.

One day, several conversations, many meals, and a few leftover packs of food later, I asked what we should do on our last day in New York.

I want to spend my money to buy food and give it to the homeless. And I want to find that woman.

My heart ached and soared. An antidote to the weekend of loud screaming lights, wafts of cloying perfume, hours of shopping, and the constant sightings of posters with half naked bodies promising many things. And a soothing healing balm to my own personal wounds inflicted by the teenage verbal and emotional rocks she sometimes throws at me.

After a gluttonous Sunday brunch, armed with bags of sandwiches, off we went to Central Park to find hungry homeless people.

Food

Some were easy, some were not. And we never found that woman.

This is complicated.

It sometimes is, my love.

 

When we got home, she churned ideas with a friend and they are off to pretty solid start on easy ways for people to donate money to Dimes for Dining. With the cash, they are going to make food, and I will drive them to personally feed hungry people on the street. And maybe it won’t be so complicated for right now.

So it was the big city in America that did it. Not a faraway small city with mountains and rivers of trash. It was in New York that she connected with the hungry and homeless who were surrounded by wealth and obscene overindulgence.

For her, and for now, I guess charity does start at home.

ROCKS.

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It’s impossible to prepare for parenthood. Yes you can anticipate the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance on kids as they grow, making sure they are safe, healthy and happy. Easy stuff. But who can honestly anticipate the acute heart break that eventually settles in your soul as these babies turn into little adults, and learn how to navigate the world. It’s the stuff that was written in small print when you bring these wonderful creatures into the world. And you can’t walk away from it.

I give life lessons and love willingly. I also have to be strong enough to receive the mental and verbal rocks that get thrown at me, and have to be resilient enough to either avoid them, or if I’m hit, stand back up and continue giving life lessons and love.

When those rocks come hurtling at me out of nowhere, I have to dig into the recesses of my parenting brain and execute defensive maneuvers. This could include verbal tactics to help illuminate and broaden the small, self-absorbed world of a teen. If the claws come out and further attack ensues, I implement a containment plan: Punishment.  And because their world is so fucking small, their life resumes rather quickly. The rocks get put away, claws retracted. I on the other hand, nurse my wounds for days. My whole body permanently tattooed with more invisible battle scars.

Rinse and repeat.

There’s nothing clinical about this job. It comes with strong emotional and physical bonds. It’s not for the faint of heart. We don’t have armor to be emotionally safe from the havoc of a growing child. The love we feel for these creatures is all consuming. Yesterday I had a fleeting moment of wondering what it would be like to be child-free. Or at the minimum to be free of the anguish, pain and heartache once reserved for the comparatively flighty world of dating.

I need to invest in some serious padding, because I am committed to this job forever. I also need to invest in some self-control because after all, as the husband reminds me, these creatures we love so much are not in control of their emotions. Which makes it all the more important that we stay in control of ours.

And I do so love these creatures.