My 11-year-old son, Lucas, is sprawled in front of the television, a plate of crispy tater tots resting on his lap. Clad in a worn-out hoodie from his favorite baseball team, the Giants, which he bought with his own savings shortly after their triumphant second World Series win, he’s caught up in the latest episode of his beloved show, Fresh Off the Boat. Between bites of tater tots, he erupts into laughter at a joke from the show, occasionally giving a scratch to our dog lounging nearby.
Meanwhile, just a few feet away, his 9-year-old brother, Ethan, is lounging on the dog bed. He chuckles too, but his laughter doesn’t quite echo Lucas’s. The gap between them grows more evident as Lucas approaches the teen years, where he craves everything and wants it instantly.
We’re both navigating uncertain times. I’m 35 and still somewhat feel like the 18-year-old I once was, trying to redefine myself after a surprising move back to my hometown, leaving behind the vibrant cities where our family thrived. Lucas is in that awkward stage, yearning for independence and all the trappings of adolescence, yet still clinging to the remnants of childhood. Our interactions often resemble a dance, sometimes harmonious and other times clashing in frustration.
“Mom, Mom!” Lucas calls out, pulling my attention from the computer. I’m juggling a work deadline while helping Ethan with a school project due tomorrow, and my mind is racing.
“What’s up? Is it urgent?” I ask, hoping for a quick answer.
“I really want a new computer, and it’s only—”
“No.” I’m exhausted from the endless cycle of wanting and needing. This conversation feels all too familiar. Sometimes it’s an iPhone, other times a gaming console, but the list of his desires only seems to grow.
He had his existing computer taken away for chatting with strangers online—he claims he was just discussing hardware with someone from a service center, but still, it raises red flags. He refuses to order from the kids’ menu at a local Mexican restaurant, only to eat half of his burrito, and he won’t pack leftovers because he’s embarrassed about using a brown bag after being teased about it before.
I find myself rolling my eyes more often these days, a habit we both seem to share.
The moments of genuine connection we once shared are harder to come by now. When he was a toddler, I could easily coax him into my lap with a stack of books or a beloved cartoon. While Ethan is still happy to curl up for storytime, Lucas retreats to his room, lost in his own world.
One afternoon, waiting for Ethan to finish swim practice, I’m listening to a comedy podcast that has been a little ray of sunshine amid our recent upheaval. Lucas is engrossed in a book, but I know he loves U2, so I share a snippet from the show. We end up laughing together, a brief moment of joy amidst the chaos of daily life.
As middle school approaches, Lucas is buzzing with energy after his first school tour. He’s eager to attend a STEM-focused school that offers courses in app development and architecture. We recognize his intelligence, but there’s a nagging concern about his motivation. After being removed from the advanced reading group for lack of participation, we wonder if he’ll be able to rise to the occasion.
After some discussion, we encourage him to put in the effort required to gain admission, but we privately question whether he has the commitment to achieve it. Lucas quickly changes his mind about dressing up for Halloween, ultimately throwing on his Giants hoodie and slapping on some eyeliner to mark 2014 on his cheek, embodying the ultimate laid-back fan.
To our surprise, he gets accepted into the STEM middle school. We celebrate with sushi, and he seems to carry himself with newfound confidence. But challenges persist: a D in history for missing assignments, resistance to chores, and skirmishes with Ethan that edge close to bullying.
Yet, there are glimmers of hope. Lucas can be sweet and responsible, baking spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and offering to share with family. He even runs into the store for milk while I wait with the dog.
As spring track season kicks off, Lucas is adamant that I shouldn’t attend his practices, but I go anyway, wanting to support him. Watching him run, I notice a fluidity and grace I hadn’t seen before. When the coach notes his talent, I feel pride swell within me.
Later that evening, Lucas surprises me with a request for a hug—a rarity that pulls at my heartstrings. A U2 song starts playing, and I find myself tearing up as the lyrics echo a bittersweet sentiment: “Baby slow down. The end is not as fun as the start.”
Reflecting on these moments, I’m filled with nostalgia and a touch of sadness. I know that life is a series of trade-offs and that achieving everything is nearly impossible. But I don’t want my son to learn that harsh lesson just yet. I wish for Lucas to savor this fleeting time of youth, even if it means I have to slow down and appreciate the beauty in these awkward, transitional moments.
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In summary, parenting an 11-year-old is a journey filled with both chaotic moments and sweet connections. As Lucas steps into his teenage years, I hope to embrace both the challenges and joys of this transitional phase.
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