“My son just doesn’t listen to me. Every day we argue about petty things. I just don’t know how to handle that teenager of mine. Now I know what my mother must have gone through…..” was the frantic cry of a mother on the other end of the phone. I made suitable soothing noises but long after the conversation concluded, it kept on playing in my head.
As a child it was blissful to be in a world where a tooth buried in the soil was supposed to procure a gift from the tooth fairy, ghosts existed when the lights went out, you feared that if you swallowed your newly broken tooth, a plant might grow in your stomach. The worst tragedy was to miss the ice cream van or if your best friend got a doll prettier than yours Scars on the knees were worn like medals. Grandmothers gently convinced you that if you fell, you would grow taller and overflowing tears stopped. Grandparents allowed you to catch their hand and let you guide them with a proud smile. Daddy was your hero. He pampered you but commanded awe, respectful fear and was the last voice of authority called upon by mummy to judge your never ending trouble making skills. And mummy, the be all and end all of life. The scolding ran parallel to the love and she was the one your eyes searched for after waking up and whose warm, caring arms invited you to a fitful sleep at the end of the day. Childhood. When your parents were your superheroes and you wanted to be just like them when you grew up.
Then came teenage. The sudden feeling of having entered a grown up world, the fear and thrill of independence. The rebel without a cause phase where the dialogue between the parents and children became a monologue, discussions became arguments. Teenage logic clashed with parental wisdom. Hours spent before the mirror and the urge to express that you are not holding on to your mama’s apron strings. Friends now occupying a major share of your world. Dad and mom no longer the superheroes but adversaries, their conversations now seem like sermons. Dad the dictator, mum the heroine of a soap opera with the clichéd punch line, “Wait till you grow up and have children. Then you will realize what it is to be in our shoes.” Teenage – when your parents were your arch enemies and you just did not want to deal with them anymore.
Adulthood. The graduation years, the buoyant feeling of earning financial independence and the subsequent struggles, marriage, two point five kids and house hold chores. The struggle to balance a career and nurture a steady relationship with your spouse and raising a family together. School. Homework. Exhaustion. And when your perpetual angst against your parents melted in the heat of the realisation that they did the best they could.And your daughter who used to cling to you now tells you to give her some space and just chill when she is going for a late night movie. When your son who demanded your constant attention tells you to knock before entering his room. When an unexpected hug or embrace from the rebellious child makes you happy. And bitter arguments are forgotten when the men in the house watch a match together and the women in the house share a secret.
The prophetic lines in a TV show called Doogie Howser M.D floated back to me and brought a closure to the reverie:
Parents:
When we are young, we want to be just like them.
When we are teenagers, we want nothing to do with them.
When we are adults, we turn up just like them……
Manasi Sawant is a lawyer by profession, a language enthusiast by choice, an amateur writer by passion and a wife and mother by destiny.