I can’t remember if the saying is one step forward and two steps back, or two steps forward and one step back. But the last few weeks have felt a bit like walking through treacle. Or climbing up a very steep mountain with lots of false summits. I just can’t seem to see an immediate end to the sticky mess we all still seem to be stuck in. That darn Covid always seems to be having the last laugh at the moment. And the joke is wearing thin.
So, one thing and another here in the House of Broken Dreams and False Hope, I have one son back to home-schooling as there has been a positive test in his year group – and the other son at home grumbling, as not only has the co-curricular highlight of his Sixth Form been cancelled - but also the Plan B option put in place to cover this Plan A has failed. This left the option of a very poor Plan C alternative, which to be fair, if it were a race should deserve to come in around the Plan G level, as I am sorry – but Cookies and a Film does not trump a week Coasteering in Devon. As much as I sympathise and try to see this from the school’s point of view – I am totally fed up with feeding bad news and bowling curveballs to my sons.
I do worry what this constant roller coaster of empty promises and disappointment is doing to our teenagers. I know that cancelled end of school proms, exams, driving tests, 18th birthday parties, residential trips and family holidays are First World Problems and don’t seem that big a deal when we are surrounded by death rates and people losing their livelihoods. But we are living in the First World. Fact. And no matter how much I am grateful for everything I have in this First World of ours (see last week’s blog on Gratitude!), I really don’t think I can keep up the optimism. I feel it is me letting down my sons, not the consequences of Covid. As a parent, I have always tried to be upfront and honest with my boys. I don’t promise what I can’t deliver, I don’t offer empty threats, or go back on my word. It just makes parenting easier if we all know where the line is drawn. So, when I have to deliver yet another bitter blow, it leaves a nasty taste in the mouth. And it doesn’t matter if the boys say OK and reassure me with a disappointed sigh that it doesn’t really matter – it does. And it makes me sad.
There is a generation of broken teens out there, bumbling along, accepting the let-downs as if it was a normal way of life but still working hard and giving their all without seeing much of a reward. How long though before they just give up, disillusioned with their lot? Or will there be one huge knee-jerk reaction instead. Some sort of sudden rebellion? I really don’t know. Already I have seen evidence of friends’ children finding it impossible to get back into the swing of routine and school after so long a period of disrupted education. Younger children feigning tummy and headaches to stay at home; older ones not seeing the point of finishing Sixth Form as hey – the exam results are just going to be plucked out of the air again, aren’t they? University doesn’t excite them – they have first-hand knowledge of friends and older siblings educating themselves online from their parent’s homes – not quite the University experience they envisaged. They hear the same news we do, eager to end Covid restrictions - so they can finally move forward and crack on with their life, keen to tick off the little goals that mark the transition into adulthood – only to get let down yet again at the 11th hour with yet more empty promises that filter through the airwaves.
I am conscious that my eldest son is nearly 18. I am also aware he is certainly having a different experience of young adulthood than I did. His life is on pause. All those milestones and mistakes I made in my late teens – going to the pub, on dates, learning to drive, paying for dinner in a restaurant, drinking too much, snogging the wrong people, festivals, camping with mates, having unplanned adventures – they are all yet to be experienced. Instead of a gradual learning curve, slowly earning stripes– they will be flung into adulthood still wet behind their ears. What about their mental health? That brief period where you stumble around finding your wings and emerge as a fully-fledged well-rounded adult is such an important time. I fear many late teens will have missed out on some vital shared life experiences and will suffer as a result. I think back to when I would sit up for hours talking with friends, hanging out listening to music, sharing secrets and woes. Peers mean more to a teenager than parents. Fact. Being cooped up with your mum, day in, day out for months on end - no matter how cool you think you are - just isn’t the same as hanging around with your mates.
I am hoping we take more steps forward over the next few months, and my sons can press the play button on their life again. In the meantime, I hope I don’t have to deliver any more curveballs or disappointments and they can have a chance to make all the same silly mistakes I did.
Well, hopefully not all…
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
