High School, Oh My.

Apparently here in Sioux City some teenagers participate in something called "pill parties." This is when kids raid their parents' medicine cabinets and bring handfuls of prescription drugs to a party and then the kids swap the pills. Disturbing? Yes, very. My oldest son will start high school in the fall. He will be fourteen in May and will be eligible for his learner's permit to drive. Can you say panic attack?

I wonder what to tell him about high school. I've been turning it over in my mind for months. I certainly will tell him not to attend any "pill parties." I will tell him not to try the "choking game." I will tell him to not drink, but if he does . . . don't drive. I will tell him all of these things because I'm his Mom and I love him and I don't want him to die. I want to watch him grow up and have a career and a family of his own. I want him to be happy and fulfilled and live a wonderful long life. That is what we all want for our children.

The stories I read and hear are all filled with teenage horror stories. It seems that high school is filled with perils. At my son's high school orientation last week, the guidance counselors laid out exactly what classes our children should take and in what order to guide our children on to the inevitable college education they will need. If you don't have XYZ, then you are in big trouble, but you need ABC before you can take XYZ. It all sounded so ominous, as if one wrong move will ruin you. I didn't feel warm and fuzzy after that meeting.

My high school had two main groups of kids. There were preps and burn-outs. Most high schools have similar groupings. There were kids that didn't really fall into either group as well. They were probably the healthiest ones of the bunch. The preps were what you would expect: jocks, student council, honors classes, popular and involved. The burn-outs were the other kids. The kids who wore their angst on their sleeves for the world to see. I was a burn-out. We smoked and partied and got in trouble. We did drugs and skipped school and didn't think about tomorrow. We just wanted to get through today.

I have to say at this point that I hated high school. I wasn't happy and my teenage years were a torturous time for me, filled with low self esteem and turmoil. I was so self-conscience and awkward and lonely. This wasn't a world that I was comfortable in. I had moved from bustling Manhattan in New York to rural New Jersey when I was thirteen and that place, which was only an hour or so away in driving distance, was as alien as landing on the moon. I had moved from a place where I was perfectly comfortable to a new reality in which I really didn't fit in very well.

So what do I tell my son? So far I haven't told him much. Do I tell him that being a teenager is hard? So far he seems pretty okay with it. He is blessed with confidence that I never had. Do I tell him about drugs? Should I tell him all of the crazy and dangerous things I did? I just don't know. My father always told me the truth. He never pretended that Santa was coming or that there was an Easter Bunny. His advice about drugs was to not smoke cocaine, to never put a needle in your arm and that speed will seriously fuck you up. Pretty good advice actually. Is this what I should tell my thirteen year old son?

My son is turning into a man right in front of my eyes. I really like the person he is becoming. I think I would have been friends with him if we were kids together. He is brilliant and funny and seems to have his feet on the ground. I tell him this on occasion, how proud I am of who he is. I hope that helps him when that teenage angst takes hold, when he feels those feelings that teenagers feel. When he feels lonely and insecure I hope that he knows that his mom thinks he's the bee's knees. I would like to hold off the realities of high school for him. He'll find out about all that stuff soon enough when he gets there. Sometimes it's important to say things to the people you love that seem obvious. Things like, I believe in you. I think you are terrific. You are special. No matter what happens, I hope our love and support will guide my children to make good decisions for themselves.