There's a teenager in the house. Until a few years ago, he was my son. But when he turned thirteen, he became also this tall stranger with new pimples around his nose and in insolence in his manners. For nearly two years, there's been an undeclared war between him and me. He wins the skirmishes but he loses the battles. He may get his way every now and then, but he knows that I make a big decisions. I am always tempted to punish him , and I'm sure thag he thought of fighting back. We are suddenly to each other two people we don't like very much. He has ideas that shock me and I have standards that appal him. Once or twice, we manage to rediscover each other. After the heated argument over why he should roll up his bedding and pick up his soiled clothes, and study his lessons this teenager and I look into each other's eyes. I search for the baby I wokr up each dawn for, thirteen years ago. I do not know what he looks for in my face but he finds it there because he smiles. The anger vanishes between us althought the issue is not solved. Strewn on the floor each morning will be his bedding. Close by, like in the molting of a snake, are the algebra lessons undone, the comic books well the messy bathroom, the weeping young sisters, and the unwatered lawn. When I suprised him in his room, I find him staring at the ceiling, daydreaming. I am reality. I am the enemy with my many dos and don'ts. Sometimes I fell he and I will never reach each other again. Surely, he may not understand me till he's father hinself and stands where I do now.
I think teenage is is the most riskfull time of our life. Your article is so complicated from other. Thank you for your exceptional post.