High schoolers in our county are in the middle of first semester exams, a few taken on Friday but the rest looming this week.  Ben and Maddie are both preparing and studying.  I want to believe, but don’t really know, what or how much or how well they, but Ben especially, is doing.  If my parenting of Ben were under exam by some “parent council,” would I pass?

My laissez faire approach to Ben, leaving details aside and focusing on the core of the relationship (and, in truth, leaving the details to his mother), starts to look like neglect when Exams roll around.  My approach is to leave Ben to himself, to respect his privacy and his developing intelligence, to see to it that he is fundamentally at peace with himself.  But this lack-of-details approach leaves me knowing too little about Ben:  what are his grades, where will he apply to college, when will he apply to those colleges, what is he thinking of studying in college?  Ah, no worries, Duke, those are just details.  The broad form is moving forward.  But am I sure?

So the details of the form are not known, but I can answer with respect to substance?  Uh, no.  Is Ben happy, is he in love, is he baffled by romance and relationships; is he embarrassed by his deafness or is he proud of the uniqueness; does he like his own body; enjoy the cleverness of his mind, get moved by events in the world?  I can guess, or intuit, answers to some of these questions, but I honestly do not know.

Failure.  Maybe that’s my parenting grade.

In many ways, it is a fair assessment.  I have walked the perimeter of Ben’s self — emotions, mind, and body — establishing a cordon, shielding him as much as possible from the pain of outsiders, but know little of what’s going on inside the compound of his persona.  The natural tendency of a teen to withhold information and to be purposely opaque, combined with the inarticulateness of a male dealing with roiling emotions, explains some of my lack of knowledge.  He does not want me to know, and has trouble expressing himself.  But part is, I do not want to know, either.

I do not want to know because I will want to fix it and I cannot?  I do not want to know because I will see a lack in Ben that will reflect on me?  I do not want to know because it will wound me and I will lash out?  I do not want to know because the inchoate thoughts will scare me?  I do not want to know because then it will confirm my failings?

Yes to all, as brutal as that assessment is.

Can I still pass this parenting course?  Maybe, if love and effort, like homework and class participation, are counted in the grade.

I love the boy, in a ferocious way.  The ferocity is mis-directed too often in irritation and disappointment, but the love is constant.  In fitful and less than ideal ways, I listen to Ben, explain to him my ideas and feelings, expose him to adventures and culture, give him affection.  I cue always to him, proud of our special connection, proud of him.  Daily I fail, daily I try again.  Is it enough?

Love and effort.  Here’s hoping these two qualities change my parent grade from “Failure” to “Needs Improvement.”

Duke and Ben Osborne, June 2009