This week marks one month since our eldest child became a teenager, which by this point is long enough to have seen a glimpse of what lies ahead.
Not that the singular day a person turns 13 somehow instantaneously alters a child from one being to another. No, the transformation is much more gradual, the various aspects of adolescence arriving over time and at their own pace for each individual. Inevitably though, parents learn that gone is the young boy easily guided on when to eat, bathe and go to bed. In its place is some other creature that’s always hungry, smells funny and sleeps more than its awake.
Take for instance the hour a teen eventually rises on those days when neither school nor other activities beckon. Once figuring out they have no particular reason to get out of bed some days, they just … don’t. How can one possibly sleep that long?!?
As the calendar would have it, one such lengthy stretch followed nearly immediately after our son turned 13. Those two weeks off of school around the holidays saw the boy staying up later each night and waking later each day for most of that break. If sleeping your life away really were possible, this kid should be Benjamin Button.
Whether he was up late watching college football bowl games on TV or shows and videos on his iPad, Sporto was routinely exerting the control one inevitably gains as a teenager — determining on their own what time they go to bed. I remember being that age, and the relative feeling of freedom that came with staying up to midnight or later. Not that I can recall sleeping to 11 a.m. very often.
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While the hour the newly minted teen wakes on such days is clearly most convenient for him, this is not always the case for those around him. Neither breakfast nor lunch aligns nicely to a waking hour of 11 a.m., leaving the freshly arisen beast foraging for food at an hour the kitchen is otherwise not open for business. And while it has become increasingly adept at assembling his own simple meals, the requisite plates and utensils and cups somehow still remain unable to find the dishwasher when he is done.
The same can be said for most other matters of household routine. Like those days when laundry is already well under way before the teen has even emerged from his lair, befuddled that the clothes he would like to wear that day are somehow still dirty in his hamper. Not yet trained to empty itself and put itself in the wash, the boy’s laundry sits idle, awaiting his transport.
Once finally dressed – likely by noon at this point – the teen then sets out to determine how we will spend his precious waking hours. This typically begins with a sojourn to the basement, once fancied by his father as something of a man cave, but now decidedly a teen cave replete with video games of the boy’s choosing. There he sits, for hours on end, perched in his gaming chair, lost in a mix of digitized football and basketball, none of which will ever be asked about on a college entrance exam.
Oh, sure, we intervene as responsible parents should, luring him out with various chores and other minor tasks. But once complete, “NBA 2K16” or some such pulls him back.
Depending on the day, that might be the end of it. Perhaps the boy will be heard from again, perhaps he won’t. It’s not unusual for the creature to only emerge occasionally the rest of our collective waking hours for feedings.
That is unless it successfully orchestrates some other activity via Snapchat, such as going to play basketball with friends at the new Fort Hill Activity Center, walking around downtown Naperville and grabbing a Starbucks, or even just hanging out at a buddy’s house. All of which are perfectly suitable alternatives to a life spent sleeping and video gaming away, for sure.
Mixed in are the occasional days with actual commitments on the calendar. And yet, despite having literally nothing else to do, it’s still somehow a mad scramble to pack the sports bag with the right gear, be dressed properly with water bottle filled and out the door on time. How can this be, when you had literally two weeks to get ready for an off-season baseball practice?
I’m not going to pretend I’m so old that I don’t remember days like that. I’m also reminded of the fleeting nature of youth, of how it’s wasted on the young. Heck, wouldn’t we all go back there for at least a day, if we had the chance?
Then again, we’d probably sleep through it.
Rob Manker is a freelance writer who lives and parents in Naperville.
Twitter: @RobManker