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Last night I attended a fundraiser put on by my women’s networking group. This meant that, in addition to all the usual gals, outsiders were there – customers, friends, our men. We sat at crowded tables of ten chitchatting during dinner. Tom was to my left; a lawyer, the husband of a real estate agent I’m friendly with, to my left. I inquired as to the Lawyer Dude’s legal specialty. Trial lawyer! Very cool, and he liked to talk about it – a lot. No prob; I wasn’t much in the mood for self-promotion anyway. (Really, I hate to network; it’s why I forced myself to join this group and became their newsletter editor.) I asked him some questions about how his job worked. He told us pretty much EVERYTHING he’d learned over the years working with patent attorneys, environmental attorneys, real estate attorneys and all their varied clients. There were more types of attorneys, but I’d switched my brain to automatic pilot after a while. Then Lawyer Dude mentioned his three college aged daughters.
I’ve got a fifteen-year old daughter thinking about college. I also edit and generally help high school seniors write their college application essays. Brain switched back to manual.
We took care of the basics. Tuition for three at once? Holy cow, Batman! Majors? The eldest is about to graduate with a dual degree in human behavior and something pre-medish. She wants to become a pediatric neurosurgeon. Wow! And she’s involved with Unicef at a national level. The other two? One plans to one day become Dad’s boss at his legal firm (ha!) and the other something financial. All involve copious amounts of grad school. The three are into volleyball too, playing for their respective universities. The take-away for me: this guy and his wife had parented a trio of very high achievers. That’s nice, but, damnit, how’d they get so lucky?
Really, I have absolutely nothing against Lawyer Dude and his wife. But I admit that last night I felt something I’ve never so tangibly felt before as a parent: envy and a little embarrassment. I couldn’t match his kid story at all given the challenging child I have.
Stop before you tell me how they’re all different and all special in their own ways. I know that. Plus, I realize that E’s issues have little to do with our parenting abilities. Shit, Tom’s got two adult kids, and they turned out fine. This one’s had issues since before kindergarten; she was finally diagnosed with ADD and anxieties in third grade. But we made it through junior high without needing drugs (if you don’t count the Cabernet that Tom and I self-medicated with). Then high school happened. The kid was lucky to make it out of ninth grade. We finally asked for and received an IEP. She was frustrating her teachers, her psychologist, us, and herself. By that spring, even she agreed that she needed help. To the medicine cabinet! The third med – once we added a fourth – was a charm. Success! Or so we thought.
Sophomore year was going along swimmingly (she’s on the swim team). She kicked it into gear and liked how that felt. She charmed her teachers, made honors! And then she didn’t. Now she “forgets” to take the pills that Tom places literally on top of her make-up every morning. I’m receiving more emails from the school about missed assignments. Meanwhile, she talks about taking honors courses next year, the college programs she wants to apply to. “I promise I’ll work harder junior year!” Really? When we came home from last night’s event, the house was strewn with her evening’s detritus – dirty socks on the kitchen counter, a shirt here, a shirt there, food and wrappings everywhere, lights blazing in rooms she’d barely entered. The dog had to pee bad.
I know, that last bit just shows she’s a normal teenager. And she is, but she’s more than that and teasing it all apart is difficult. She’s got issues for which she needs to take responsibility in order to become a college student, a self-sufficient adult. Her psychologist and I suspect that the successes of last semester scared her, that she’s realizing growing up takes work, work she may or may not be emotionally equipped to do. If she isn’t, what the hell do Tom and I do with her in two or four years?
So, yes, last night I was jealous of Lawyer Dude and his three seemingly perfect daughters. I’m tired of the tension and my own depression, of shepherding this kid, repeating myself over and over, fighting with my husband about her, worrying. I want, no, I need her to motivate herself towards adulthood and to see that the work it takes is worth it. Frankly, I want to feel as proud as other parents and to brag about my kid till I bore someone.
I’m just afraid it’ll never happen.
When not writing or editing as The Polished Paragraph, laura Salamy, escapes to her happy place filled with colorful hooked rugs (https://www.facebook.com/HighOnHooking).
