Surviving adolescence

I must confess that I’m starting to wonder whether my 13-year-old son will be allowed to survive to see his 14th birthday, let alone make it to adulthood.

In all seriousness, it’s interesting to watch this adolescent-awakenings phase from the adult perspective. The thing I remember most about my middle school years is that everything, and I do mean everything, seemed incredibly intense and larger-than-life. Every crush, every argument with a friend or my parents, every decision, seemed to be the end-all of everything.

Now, as I watch my son, I see that same intensity manifest itself in some of the most annoying behavior I have ever witnessed. It seems like he’s never middle-of-the-road. When he’s happy, he’s happy to the nth degree, making this “YEEAING!” noise and throwing his body around like a two-year-old who drank the sugar bowl. When he’s mad, he’s prone to tossing things around in his room with angry abandon. And don’t even get me started on the degree to which he tries to push every boundary I can think of, and many that I haven’t.

All I can say is, “It’s a wonder my parents didn’t off me as soon as I hit 13.”

I suppose the only thing that saves him is that, at times, I can see a glimpse of the man who lives beneath this big, strange, swirling mass of hormones. And that man is kind and compassionate, intelligent and responsible.

Perhaps I’ll let him live, after all.

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