Here’s a startling confession from a mother — I don’t really like kids. I like my own. I like a few others. But, as my kids aged into their teens and beyond; I found the current crop of young adults to be weak, vapid and annoying. Faces in their phones, all suffering from some sort of anxiety or depression — materialistic, selfie-obsessed, attention-seeking, looking for the next trophy they didn’t earn. They would sit in the backseat of my car and talk amongst themselves in a cringe-inducing, verbally fried conversation of, “oh my gawwwwd, so my ex liked this girl I hates picture and I was like, dude, I am going to like tell my other ex that like …”
I can’t tell you what they were saying beyond that point because the amount of “likes” that preceded every thought and the fact that a 14-year-old had more exes than I have would make me retreat into my head to wonder how illegal it would be if I pulled over and sent them out of my car to walk home. They all seemed to know everything and were oddly bold enough to argue with you about things without realizing they knew very, little at all about themselves, the world and most of all — adversity. For them, a really bad day was not being able to get their phone to charge. And, I would often give my kid’s friends blank stares as they struggled with issues that were to me — completely ridiculous.
I would resist the urge to age myself and give them the, “when I was your age, I walked uphill BOTH ways to school” speech. But, being around the current crop of teens and early adults — I very, clearly understood why my parents would give that response when they would hear me crying at a young age about such minor issues as girls at school being mean to me. We don’t have perspective at that age. And, deep inside I do know that. But, it didn’t stop the feelings of eyeball rolling irritation with today’s youth.
Until 2020 took them into the storm.
There’s so much talk about who has emotionally been hit the hardest by 2020. There is a laundry list of the wounded: those that lost their lives, those that lost loved ones, the frontline workers, the small business owners, the parents trying to homeschool their kids and work, the unemployed, the elderly locked in isolation. They all deserve love and compassion for enduring 2020 the best they know how.
But … most of those above know how. We are the adults. We have seen dark days followed by rainbows. We have had heartbreaks and healed. Lost and moved on. They haven’t.
I think to the kids in the back of my car, blithering on like silly, mini wannabe adults — immersed in the minutia of life — and, I ache for them. What must they be thinking during this year? They have so much life ahead and it must now be this giant pit of unknown.
Should I even go away to college when it is all remote? They will miss the smell of traffic and the nerves of walking around campus trying to find a class buried in a hall, impossible to find.
How will I date when I can’t even go out to eat with someone? They are missing the awkward moments of struggling to find the right words to say to a boy or girl they like during a dinner out.
When I get married, will this be gone? Will I get to have all the people I want there? They may miss the moments many of us had when we negotiated with our future spouse on how many cousins are allowed before we cut them off.
When I have a baby, will I have to go into the hospital alone? They may miss the flood of excited new grandparents and friends coming in with balloons and flowers to celebrate a new life.
When I buy a home, should I forget the big city life I always dreamed of? The pandemic hitting the larger cities so hard may make the suburbs they all used to dream of escaping not look so bad.
Every milestone that we adults got to go through unencumbered, isn’t a given for any of them now. The international symbol for our current young adults is the question mark — branding them like the Scarlet A. A future … unknown. And, they have been simultaneously ill-prepared and blindsided by that reality.
Battered and broken. So many of them must feel broken by the storm.
It’s our responsibility as the adults in the room to recognize them. I think they get overlooked in the endless battles over politics, masks, rights, losses and hardships. And, in that recognition tell them, “it’s going to be okay.” That seems like a pathetically small statement to make to them, but they don’t own the one thing that we have earned through our years of living — perspective. We have seen hard times that they haven’t and overcame. They will, too. But, they need to hear it from us, and often.
No, we don’t know exactly when this will end … younger one … but, it will.
That school will open, that boy will call, that big wedding will come, that baby will get passed around to teary-eyed family, your home will become your haven (no matter where it may be). This WILL pass. And, you will be stronger for it. You will. It doesn’t even matter how you handle it as we are still going through it. Cry, it’s okay … we all have. Get angry, it’s okay … we all have. But, endure … survive … fight … find silver-linings … adapt. You will get to the other side of this mountain now and look back in amazement that you got through it. It’s going to “age” you, for sure. But, it can be in the best way possible. You know that trophy that we adults never thought you earned? You will for getting through 2020.
You are going to appreciate things like freedom, AIR, life, a simple dinner out, time with family, a hug, a dance, a football game with friends, a first kiss like you never did before; if you let it. The world, outside of your phone, is going to be so much more important to you; if you let it. The politics and policies of this country will mean something to you now because you can see how if effects you. Let 2020 open your eyes to the things in this world both big and small and let it make you better. It can … if you don’t let it break you.
And, someday … when you are my age and that baby grows to be 14 and is sitting in the back of your car complaining about some ridiculously small issue, you can turn to them and say, “Let me tell you about the year 2020 and how I thought it would break me … but, it didn’t”.
Because the storm will end, and the sun will shine again. I promise.
Pretty Political 