My brother-in-law and I have been having a recurring conversation lately that involves his 11-year-old son and my daughter of nearly the same age. "I'm going to kill him," he stated, while staring at me like Clint Eastwood during his Dirty Harry days.
"Why?!! What's up?" I answered with a fake surprised tone to my voice. I knew what was up. I had endured the change that children go through around that age with my own son, who was now safely on the other side of that particular stage of puberty at fourteen years old. My wife and I were also deeply entrenched in the wild mood swings of our own daughter.
"He's like he's Jekyll and Hyde! One minute he's our sweet, mannerly son, and the next he's ready to rip someone's head from their shoulders! I can't take much more," he said with wide eyes.
"Oh, he'll be back. His hormones are raging, and he's developing both mentally and physically. He'll be fine, you'll see," I finished. I had just recited my wife's latest speech to me verbatim. There's no way I could have come up with that wisdom on my own. My solution was to threaten severe discipline. But, I too, was ready to move to an asylum after dealing with my son a couple years before, and am currently in the throws of various highs and lows concerning my own daughter.
The very knowledgeable and experienced pediatrician had warned us years before. "Your kids are only two years apart in age. That means that it's very likely that they'll begin puberty around the same time. So, you'll need nerves of steel and the patience of Job. Good luck," he said, like a prophet, and then promptly exited the room.
Once, while trout fishing, I glanced over at my son, who was watching his little, fuzzy lure dangle from an overhead tree branch. This would be the first of many instances that made me consider having his head examined to be sure that he was surely alright. "Oh man, I hate when that happens," I said, with a grin on my face.
"Well, if you'd take me someplace that wasn't so brushy and thorny, maybe I wouldn't keep losing lures in the trees!!!"
I wasn't quite sure how to properly address that particular outburst, but honestly at that point I would have been willing to spend the night in jail for throwing my son into the freezing river. "We've fished here many times, and you've never said anything about the brush and thorns. It's not my fault you can't cast," I barked. Immediately, I felt bad about the comment.
"Let's go. I always knew you were disappointed in me. I've always known," he finished with his head hanging low.
We walked the short distance to my truck in silence, he with tears in his eyes, and me wondering what had just happened. I climbed into the cab of the truck and he slid into the passenger's side and we sat without uttering a word. Finally, I spoke. "Son, I've always been proud of you and you've never let me down."
"It's not you dad, it's just that I'm ugly," he said, while staring at the floor of the truck. I wasn't sure how to handle that little oddity that had flown in from left field, and I chuckled under my breath, so I decided to lighten the mood a bit.
"Well, you are a tad on the ugly side. Your mom and I haven't told you, but yes son, you are an alien. A strange looking young fellow. The Discovery Channel wanted to run a feature on you because they thought that you were proof of extraterrestrial life, but we wouldn't have it," I quipped.
Immediately, I knew that my humor had hit the proverbial brick wall.
We dealt with this and other very strange behavior for at least two years. I even asked a friend who had raised three sons what the heck was happening to our once sweet son. "Well, kids don't come with owners manuals," he replied. I stared at him in wonderment, and surmised that he'd either forgotten, or simply didn't want to relive those unsettling years. Either way, he didn't offer much to chew on. Thankfully, before long, it was as if God himself decided that we had endured enough and simply cut if off. Now, our son has returned to normal.
Sidney, our daughter, seems to have decided to carry the torch, whether by choice or not. She has begun to make the transition from little girl into young woman, by way of turning us into raving lunatics. "I'm a vegetarian, I'm not eating this," she stated plainly one recent evening at the dinner table. "If you guys want to eat this stuff, then go ahead. But I'm not," she said, while staring at a finely cooked pork chop.
"This isn't a restaurant, you eat what I cook, if not, then go hungry," Kristi barked at the child, who had taken to searching the refrigerator for vegetarian fare. The kid loved pork chops as far as I knew.
Occasionally, our loving little daughter peeks out from the dark cloud that seems to hover over her most of the time. We have experience now, which doesn't make the transition easier, but we do understand it. I guess we'll have to buckle up and brace for the ride. It will also come to an abrupt end for my sister and brother-in-law, but alas, they have another, younger son. So, they will surely get another dose of hormonitis. If I have learned anything, it's that during this difficult time in a child's life, it's imperative to never, ever call them an alien.
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