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You may have heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly but expecting different results. From that reference point, I decided I needed to change how I disciplined my teen son or run away from home, and I also needed to answer one question: Is it ever too late to teach a teen the right lesson?
What had I been doing? For years I had been handing out penalties like no TV, no Internet access, no video games for X amount of time.
What had he been doing? For years he had been committing various infractions, doing his time, and then returning to a life of careless disobedience and mindless endeavor only to enter a new punishment cycle a few weeks later. He was being a teen.
But "something has to give!" I screamed to myself this past November. My son was 17 at the time, soon to be 18 and all I could see was "this is my last chance. He'll be graduating soon, possibly going away to college. I've got to break this immaturity unless I want a big college bill and no diploma from him or maybe worse ..." Mothers can always imagine the worst.
For clarification, my son is not what you'd call "a troubled teen," meaning he doesn't do drugs; hasn't caused me to report to a police station to bail him out; his grades are okay most of the time; and generally, he's respectful. I count that as a blessing, not anything attributable to my parenting skills, but God's providence. And yet I fear for his future: will he be able to care for himself, hold down a job, make reasonable decisions? (If you want to read more about how he's frustrated my motherly aspirations, you'll find elaboration at my blog.)
I fear for his future because I see how this world speeds along, only accommodating success for those who work hard and keep its pace. For a black man, the struggle may be more challenging. My son is black.
Anyway, despite seeing when he was a toddler that he required more structure and discipline than I gave to my daughter, I never got around to teaching him that to my satisfaction. I didn't go for high-activity schedules nearly chiseled in stone, the set chores always enforced, the consistency on paper and in the real world. It takes self-discipline to enforce such things. How can you instill in another what you yourself lack? And so, in November of last year, after he'd plucked my nerves by not doing something I'd told him to do more than thrice, panic overtook me, and I meditated a while. Later, I called him in, sat him down, and handed him my salvation: a "get-out-of-jail sheet."
The Get-Out-of-Jail Sheet
Sounds harsh, a tool designed to stir terror about a potential dark future, but if the fictional Ghost of Christmas Future can scare Scrooge straight, why not a real mother her son? My son knew from whence I came. He'd heard my lectures often, discussing how African-Americans, especially males, are at a high risk to end up in prison, and it's an easier end to meet than you might think, even for a middle-class son if he's not careful.
All it takes to come to a bad end is an unwillingness to believe you'll face consequences for your actions. Believe that one too many times and you may face certain peril -- if not with the law, then with your boss, if not with the boss, then with a mate, if not with a mate, perhaps with a credit card company. Parents of all races can testify to that.
I told him that while I didn't see jail in his future--unless he acted with extreme stupidity or was so unwise as to be in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time--I did see a life of binding mediocrity and an unhappiness with self if he didn't stop fooling around with time. Time is fleeting, and through its misuse we build our own prisons.
I also told him that the only job of a parent after protecting a child from harm is to prepare a child to take care of him or herself honestly once the child is grown. If the child does not understand how the world works and cannot fend for
