Making Space for Adulting

hard for the child, hard for the parent

I had prepped.  I was ready.  I could take these ten 4^th graders in my charge successfully through the basics of the Ten Commandments.  This was the topic assigned for the weekly gig I have in the faith formation classroom for my parish.  I wanted to bring up covenant—about God’s willingness to begin again with us. And again, and again.  I wanted to be sure they knew that all the best stuff happens on mountain tops, to let my class know that if a mountain is involved, they should get ready for something big to happen. I was ready to help them sort to see how the first four commandments had to do with our relationship with God and the remaining six had to do with our relationship with other people.  I could lead a discussion why God gave us these and see what rationale these young minds might offer.

I hadn’t thought of the funny sounding words. Why hadn’t I thought about the vocabulary?  First someone asked about the meaning of covet.  And I was not prepared for this question: “What’s adultery mean?” Before I could answer, a most sincere young boy answered for me, “I think it means the process of becoming an adult.”

Stifling a smile, I shared with them the real meaning.  But the sweet sincerity of the young boy who gave his best, most logical guess has stayed with me. 

Adulting is hard work, for the pre-adolescent and everyone who lives with them.  We are going through it in our house. At just ten years old. We have the attitude, the talking back, the resistance, the strong and stormy emotions, and non-compliance.  It comes and goes with the childlike sweetness I’m most used to in a Jekyll and Hyde like way, so I never quite know which side of my son will show up from hour to hour, or interaction to interaction.  Our best defense right now is consequences: loss of what he loves most—screen time.  And honestly, our 6-year-old daughter can throw a look with the best of them and stomp off like the teenager she is foreshadowing.

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I’ve been sniffing my son’s armpits every now and then, even though he pulls away in horror and yells at me to stop. Obviously the deodorant he’s been wearing for quite some time now needs an upgrade.  Or he needs showers more often.

And now, this past week, I received two emails from our school with more evidence of adulting.  One from the principal and then a follow up email from the classroom teacher reminding us that they will be teaching Human Growth and Development Lessons this week.  My son will be learning about the anatomy of the female and male reproductive systems as well as the changes to expect during puberty.  As parents, we are encouraged to preview the lesson and the “Meet the New You” videos that will be shown in a coed classroom. 

How different from my own vague memory of being separated into gendered classes for our sexuality lesson!  I believe mine happened a year later, too, in fifth grade.  How we all died a thousand humiliating deaths back then.  But how curious, too, we all were about what the other was learning in the class we weren’t privy to.

The schools are asking parental help in coaching our children to treat the subject matter seriously and respectfully, and of course we have the option to withhold our child after reviewing the curriculum—something I can never imagine choosing to do.  As a former educator, I trust and support the schools and applaud all efforts to normalize the teaching of sexuality.  The note I received says the lesson is designed so the instruction is medically accurate, unbiased, inclusive, culturally relevant, and responsive.  Amen.  I hope a unit like this continues each year, well past the fourth grade.  I am noticing that the school is strategically timing these lessons on the last two days before spring break week starts and think that can’t be a coincidence.

All of this makes the shared bath my daughter and son randomly took this past week all the more precious. They haven’t asked to share a bath or shower time in years. It was sweet to see they could both still fit in the tub together, and there was no shame or awkwardness.  I heard them play and laugh before I came in to wash their hair.  I was keenly aware that this may be the last bath they ever take together as they each grow more self-conscious.  For now, in this moment of time, our bodies are just our bodies and nakedness is normal. And I love it.

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In today’s Gospel from the evangelist John (Jn. 12:20-33), we get a glimpse of Jesus preparing for his glorification—for his death and resurrection.  Holy Week is looming.  I can feel its shadow on today’s liturgy.  This selection is filled with suffering and we feel Jesus’ full humanity when he says, “I am troubled now.”  Yet John helps us understand Jesus is in full control of all that is happening to him.  Jesus is not taken by surprise by the chaotic, violent events that swirl around him in Jerusalem. He willingly surrenders as he carries his mission forward, to this moment, “The hour has come.”   

In this exchange, we also hear Jesus giving his famous,

“Amen, amen I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”  -Jn. 12:24

Farmers get this teaching immediately.  Gardeners understand it too.  A seed must fall to the ground, crack open, and die to itself so the life force within it can come forth and bring forth more life: a plant can spring forth which will produce more flowers, more fruit, more seeds, more life.  But if that grain of wheat sits in my special drawer or on my gardening shelf, it just stays as a single grain of wheat.  No more, no less.  Frozen in time.

In my son’s process of adulting, he has experienced the wheat grain dying.  He has known some sufferings, some deaths he wouldn’t have chosen for himself.  We all do, it’s part of being human.  Losing his “BFF”—his good friend since first grade—at the start of this year came to mind for us both as we listened to our deacon preach this weekend.  The friendship abruptly ended, not by my son’s choice, and with such meanness.  It was a loss, a painful death, that continues to cause pain, confusion, and longing for what was.  But thinking about the wheat, it might be somehow necessary for new growth to burst forth in his life. 

And there will be more deaths waiting: fitting in with peers. The crushing “otherness” of cliques. Love not returned, leaving a jagged, broken heart.  Academic struggles. Deaths of people he loves.  Personal failures. Things I’m not brave enough to imagine.

Watching someone grow and come into being is awesome.  Amazing.  Maddening.  And a long and arduous process. Helping and guiding someone to do all that is something I could never have understood when I felt the longing to become a mom, nor had a tiny infant placed in my arms.  May each of my children become who God created them to be.  And may I not get in the way of that.