As a teen I did the following in no particular order:

Lied, stole, vandalized, drove a car at age fourteen, shoplifted, ran away, hitchhiked, sneaked out of the house by hanging from a second story window, shaved my head, pierced my ears sixteen times and colored my hair the same as Strawberry Shortcakes.

I dated men almost twice my age, who could have been arrested for hanging out with me if they did indeed know my age but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell them.

Remember I started off this confession by saying I lied. A lot.

With that kind of personal history, I was prepared for Beau’s complete corruption beginning on Nov 18^th 2005 the day he turned 13. Instead he spent the night with five smelly gangly boys playing Guitar Hero and playing a rowdy game of flag football in a nearby field while I waited for him to break out the booze while surrounding himself with clouds of smoke of a dubious nature.

Corruption at that level didn’t happen with him. Ever. Or at least I didn’t catch him at it and let’s remember his nickname for me was “Eagle Eye”.

What I did not expect was the feeling of losing control with my kid. I was so scared he was going to mess up that I held on tighter, clenched my fists harder and tried to control what can’t and shouldn’t be controlled. My kid.

When he was young it was easy. He marched like a soldier to my tune; he was like my own adorable little puppet.

At age 13 and beyond even when he did say the right thing or answer me correctly, I could feel his resistance and I could read his thoughts and they said this,

“My mother knows nothing and I don’t want to do what she says.”

Rebellion of a minor sort but rebellion none the less.

I didn’t like it but I should have.

A little puppet sent out into the world without its puppet maestro, well, it can’t walk, it can’t eat, and it can’t talk and it knows nothing on its’ own.

Thank goodness Beau knew better. He questioned everything I said even if he didn’t do it out loud all the time. He made most of his own decisions and they were good ones. Beau became his own person even if it wasn’t the one that I, the evil puppet master, had in mind.

Beau turns 22 this year and I am grateful that despite my machinations, Pinocchio outgrew Gepetto and became his own little boy and grew into the wonderful man he is today which is one who still disagrees with me on many accounts.

This next time around is coming, as even now we decide on what kind of deodorant Donovan wants to wear, and this time I will court martial less and listen more.

I don’t want to control him and I don’t want to contain him.

I thought I was brave always standing up to my teen but what’s really brave is letting them have the freedom to become their own person.

And just like Pinocchio who could only become a real boy if he proved himself to be “brave, truthful, unselfish and to gain a conscience” so to will our kids grow into the people they were meant to be if we can only afford them the freedom to do so.

You don’t want a puppet.

You want a person.

I wish you luck, and I hope you will do the same for me.

We’re gonna need it.

“Holy Crap your son has facial hair, I feel old.”   

“I don’t” I started to write but then my husband, who likes to annoyingly peer over my shoulder and call me out when I write a tiny little Facebook lie, said,

“You are a liar, you hate getting old.”

I’m such a good liar that I have fooled myself with my

“Ohhh age is just a number, bleh, bleh, bleh.”

I don’t feel old but I won’t lie to myself or you anymore, I am deathly afraid of GETTING old because let’s face it, I don’t want to die.

Also, I don’t want to be old.

I want to always be able to run fast and stay up late and boogie board with the best of the next generation.  Right now I still can, but spend the rest of the morning sleeping it off with a case of Advil and a heating pad, but don’t tell the younguns that part because I like to think I have them fooled.

I don’t know how it happened.  I don’t know where each God blessed moment went. Just yesterday I couldn’t wait to send that big- headed, big- hearted, train- playing boy off to Grandma’s house for a moments peace and now he could make me a grandma and he’s got a beard.

I could be a frigging grandma.

That’s ridiculous, I cannot be a grandmother.  Not now.  And how can I think of being a grandma when I’m still dreaming of another baby of my own.

I still like to do the things I did when I was twenty and every once in a while that involves silly antics like dancing on a bar or taking off on a whim to the beach and piercing my nose.

I still want to do double flips off the diving board at the pool.  I’m not sure if that’s brilliant or obscene; perhaps brilliant if I pull it off but if I have to call out from work because I got seven stitches in my head from doing a double flip during adult swim: obscene.

Can I avoid empty nest syndrome and the pitfalls of middle age that involve antics like Botox and unnecessary surgery and torrid affairs with people half my age and are those things any worse than dancing on a bar or falling off it, joining a roller derby team or reliving my youth at summer camp for the over forty set?

I cringe when I see women my age who have succumbed to minivans and Christmas sweaters complete with sensible shoes, but who am I to judge?  Those women are probably cringing at my Vans, skinny jeans and black knit cap.

I just hate to think of myself following the status quo for old age even if that does put me in Vans and heading fast into the second half of my century with fallen arches, bunions, an aching back, and possibly seven stitches in my head from that double flip.

I’d love to be serene and stylish, practicing yoga and being beautiful at fifty like my sister in law Kelly but that’s not going to happen, because how can I grow old gracefully if I have never ever been graceful since the day I was born?

What’s a girl to do and why oh why do I still think of myself as a girl?

So here’s what ladies: You don’t judge me in my Vans and I won’t judge you in your Christmas sweater or big puffy not so natural lips and we will get on with the more important things like practicing back flips or at least watching someone else doing them and saying wistfully,

“Back in my day….”

It means that they face different challenges, temptations, concerns, and cultural forces. And it means that parenting is different today than it was when your parents were raising you.

No Parent Left Behind is a seminar for parents that includes three fast-paced and practical sessions led by Dr. Walk Mueller, founder and President of the Center for Parent Youth Understanding. The three sessions include:

1. Session 1: Know Your Teen – learn how kids grow, develop and change, and how the teenage years leave them vulnerable to cultural influences
2. Session 2: Know Their World – learn about major cultural forces in today’s world that are influencing children and teens
3. Session 3: Know Your Role – as parents you learn about hope-filled and practical guidance on how to increase your parental influence and lead your kids to a spiritually, physically, and emotionally healthy adulthood.

The seminars are held on Friday, February 10, 2012 through Saturday, February 11, 2012. Session 1 is Friday night from 7-8:30 p.m and Sessions 2 and 3 are from 9-10:30 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. -12:30 p.m respectively. Sessions are just $5 per person or $12 for all three.

If you have young children or teens, this is a good time to learn more about parenting at Third Presbyterian Church, 600 Forest Avenue, Henrico, VA 23229.

For registration or more information, contact Vicki Brooks at 804.282.4645 extension 115 or vickieb@thirdpres.org.