Watching my kids grow up has been a hobby of mine for over seventeen years now.� Lately, however, as my daughters have wandered into their teenage years, it hasn’t always looked like progress.
Last night was�case in point.� My eldest’s school band was hosting the Gustavus Adolphus Wind Orchestra for one stop on their whirlwind January tour through the frozen north (whose idea was that?).� After an excellent concert, two college students – Ann and Amanda – were to stay over night with us.� They were great guests.
Some other band-parent friends of ours, Peg and Keith, invited our crew down for spaghetti,�so with�a couple of our kids’ friends joining in, there were sixteen people around a long, makeshift table – four college students,�six high school students, two junior high students, and four traditional adults (Peg and Keith would probably be crushed to be labeled “traditional,” or even “adult,” but this isn’t about them).
Anyway, it was the hope of (one) adult (anyway) that the high school students would engage their guests, the college students, in some form of human communication (in truth, this did happen both before and after the meal over some games).� What happened�at the meal�was that the high school students began talking – loudly – about their usual topics, like other students, what he said, what she said, and the like.� They also returned to the old standby of various inside jokes, often just sounds (pssss!) or words,�that were hilariously funny to them, but opaque to everyone else.
The end result was that the traditional adults made conversation� with the college students in the shadow of much more animated high school converstaion punctuated by lots of joyful sqealing.
Enough teen bashing.� I hate to complain about my kids or any of the others there, because they’re really great kids.� At seventeen, my conversations were probably equally as incomprehensible.� It’s just that I noticed a marked difference between the two groups that I�hadn’t been�aware of.� The college students could discuss things that were outside of their immediate scope.� They had a concept of a larger world where things were going on that meant something.� The high school students were enthralled with all the little things they had in common, and had no concept that, while these shared experiences and ideas�were wildly interesting to them, they were of little value to everyone else.
I hate the way I’m sounding here.� I’m definitely being the traditional adult.� I don’t mean to say that there’s anything wrong with the teenage converstation, except that in the context of a group that included “outsiders,” the teens�were completely unaware that converstaion could be something that includes a bigger circle.� Can someone say Narcissism?� Can someone say MySpace?� Can someone say blogger?
I was talking about this to my friend Jocelyn today, and her comment was not that there was a problem, but that we’d just�seen a glimpse of what could be.� Maturity is possible.� Pass the Neuman’s own dressing, please.
I’m counting on no one reading to the end of this, especially my seventeen year old.� If she does read this, she probably won’t talk to me for weeks.� Even years.� Dang, I love her, and I’ll miss her, but there will be an up-side to the silence.
Wow. I just stumbled across this, and who knew I’d get a shout out in it? These are great musings, and at age 17, I’d just be dazzled that my dad was writing anything about me. You are plenty gentle here; it was well worth the full read.