Harry is standing in my bedroom doorway, wearing a look of distress and a pink dress shirt that, thanks to his growth spurt, no longer fits. “I have nothing to wear,” he announces. This is a problem because the eighth-grade graduation dance is in less than two hours, and Harry has a date he needs to look good for and the popular kids’ picture-taking party to attend. So even though I have stuff to do and even though I’ve been advising Harry all week to plan his outfit and even though I have absolutely no gas ‘cause it costs six million and two dollars a gallon, I somehow find the two of us in my Camry, heading in the direction of Menlo Park Mall. Within the hour, I have friends who have made plans without me, and Harry has a crisp blue button-down from Abercrombie with “those cool sleeves that roll.” Welcome to caring for—and caring about—a teenager.
Living with a teen can be difficult. Harry—like every other teenage boy on the planet—communicates mostly by a series of grunts and monopolizes the family computer with IM conversations that are mind-numbingly dull. But adults, for some reason, never seem to tire of complaining about teens. Parents are bizarrely preoccupied with punishments and worst-case scenarios and calling their kids spoiled, distant, and irresponsible. Many of you forget that having a teenager close at hand is also ridiculously fun. No show on MTV has relationship drama half as juicy as the kind that plagues middle schoolers, and there’s nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline you feel when desperately trying to locate an A&F sales girl who isn’t too busy flirting to unlock a dressing room. Living with a teenager is part scavenger hunt (to find: materials for the roller coaster project, Rock Band for Wii), part choose-your-own-adventure (when the teen in your household remarks that your new haircut makes you resemble an “old grandma,” do you a) punt him or b) just walk away?). Living with a teenager is, if nothing else, something that should never be taken for granted, or worse: wished away.
For me personally, the hardest part of being at college is the unshakable feeling that I’m missing out on watching my baby brother grow up. I used to know everything that happened in Harry’s life, while it was happening—who Katie was kissing, that Ben threw a Cheeto at Kenny at lunch and then had to sit up front. The only news I now receive is a recap of whatever’s occurred on the days I can squeeze in a phone call between Intro to Poetry and English 313. I miss the surprisingly insightful—and honest—life commentary and the dramatic monologues on the unfairness of revoked iPhones and the feeling I get whenever it hits me that the same kid who was once a helpless, fussy, spit-up-y baby is developing into a real live person, with ideas and feelings as complex as my own. Simply put, I miss the wild ride that is living with a teenager, and you will too, when the ride is over.