You might think raising young people helps you predict their next move. You're wrong

From Saturday's Briefing:

What does it mean to parent teenagers? It totally depends on the day.

There are routines, of course, not too different from infancy or toddlerhood or even elementary school. They need to eat and sleep. They need clean clothes. They thrive on unconditional love and affection.

And yet there are countless more variables as they get older. The routine is merely a skeleton upon which unpredictability runs wild. You might think that raising these young people gives you an advantage to understanding their next moves. You are often wrong.

I thought, for example, that I had modeled healthy, balanced meals for my children and that they, when left to their own devices, would do the same.

In between Saturday activities last week, Cooper took charge of his own lunch. He made himself a ham, cheese and pepperoni wrap. (I suggested that he include some fresh spinach or chopped tomatoes. He said those would interfere with the desired texture and flavor of his creation.)

He took one bite of his lunch then stared meaningfully at the toaster oven.

"If you want to heat it, I'd wrap it in foil first, and set the oven to bake," I counseled.

With his entree delayed, Cooper set his sights on an appetizer of sorts. I suggested some carrots or an apple. I was ignored.

He gathered two knives, two slices of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a jar of Nutella.

He spread more peanut butter on one slice than I thought was physically possible. He repeated the feat with Nutella on the other slice.

He smooshed the two sides together and polished it off just at the wrap was ready to come out of the oven. He proceeded to devour the wrap, then searched the refrigerator for something to wash it all down with. Mango juice. At least there was a semblance of fruit.

I've got a few more months to work on him before he leaves for college. Maybe he'll surprise me.

Katie and I have a few more years together. For the first 12 years of her life, she seemed content with me hanging around. Teenage Katie still likes me, but she also wants her space. (I, too, have been a teen. I totally understand.)

She wasn't thrilled to learn that I had volunteered to chaperone the eighth-grade semi-formal. I promised to make no unnecessary eye contact and to refrain from taking photos of her at the dance. (I made no such promise for photos before.)

I worked the sign-in table most of the night, far removed from the dance floor.

About 30 minutes before the event's end, Katie came looking for me -- an unexpected twist. Her motives weren't entirely pure, though. Her goal: Convince me to allow a group of girls to come home with us to watch a movie.

I did some quick calculations and determined that to host girls for an after-party would require that I remain in regular clothes — not pajamas — and be available for general parenting and maybe even driving for another three hours.

A universal truth of teaching is that every Friday night is a finishing line. We've reached our absolute limit of activity. The fact that I was still wearing publicly acceptable clothing — a dress and heels, no less — was a miracle.

I offered a compromise: I'd take the whole gaggle to Braum's for ice cream and drive them home.

So, on that Friday night after two hours in a middle school gym, I sat alone in a booth, nursing a scoop of cookies and cream.

In an unexpected twist, I didn't even mind. I enjoyed a few moments of solitude while hearing echoes of their giggles.

These girls will be in high school soon. Their schedules will be more complex. In a couple of years, some will be driving, and they won't need a mom to linger in the background.

No matter the day or the meal or the special occasion, I'm thankful for this opportunity to guide my children toward adulthood. Life would be routine without them.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Friday night at Braum's

If you don't know where to start with people, try a book first

My Dallas Morning News column, from Saturday's Briefing:

I'm convinced that we would all get along better if we all read more — and not just tweets and Facebook posts that make us comfortable or books that reflect our own experiences. We need to bury our noses in unexpected literature.

I've been helping a ninth-grader understand Harper Lee's classic To Kill a Mockingbird. She's enjoying the story and working hard to ferret out universal themes, the importance of setting and how the plot affects characterization. She's doing all that work with limited background knowledge. Her parents are non-Christian immigrants, which makes some of the 1930s Southern references particularly difficult to parse.

Consider, for example, when Miss Maudie talks about "foot-washing Baptists" and tells Scout, "Sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse than a whiskey bottle in the hand of oh, of your father." If you're not familiar with Christian doctrine and various denominations within the church, these are tough quotes to place in context. And the whole novel is full of allusions.

The analysis is worth the reward, of course. We're having important conversations about sibling rivalry, prejudice and standing up for what's right.

My own reading lately has leaned toward historical fiction, with valuable lessons from the past that can inform our attitudes and decisions.

The Alice Network by Kate Quinn, set in France during World War I and after World War II, describes risks taken by female spies and atrocities committed by the Germans and those who supported them. There's no pleasure in reading of torture, but we can't afford to forget the cruelty of regimes that allow it, either.

The Dollmaker of Krakow by R.M. Romero is part historical fiction and part fantasy, with a wooden doll come to life who helps to rescue children from the Krakow Ghetto. Holocaust stories are never easy to read, yet that discomfort is a necessary reminder of a past we can't repeat and heroic souls who resisted.

Refugee by Alan Gratz follows the harrowing journeys of three refugee children — one escaping Nazi Germany, one fleeing Cuba under Fidel Castro and another leaving 21st-century Syria. It's impossible to read these stories without gasping, weeping and wondering more than once, "What would I take if I had to leave my home behind?" and "Would my family and I survive this kind of uncertainty and violence?"

One of my favorites of the year so far is The Night Diary by Veera Hiranandani, named a Newbery Honor Book this week. My choices typically skew Western, and I lack sufficient knowledge of South Asia, especially given the number of my students whose parents were born there. This novel helps to build on my limited understanding of Indian foods, customs and beliefs.

The Night Diary takes place in India in 1947, as the country was establishing new borders and Pakistan was created. The narrator is a 12-year-old girl with a Hindu father and a Muslim mother (who died during childbirth) who must leave her comfortable life behind to emigrate from Pakistan to the new India.

The characters are fictional but plausible. Nisha and her family nearly die of starvation and dehydration. They witness and narrowly escape inhumane violence. According to Hiranandani, more than 14 million people crossed borders in the partition of India, and as many as 1 million died in the mass migration.

These are stories I didn't know, and now I need to know more. At the same time, I wonder what kind of historical fiction might eventually be written about 2019. What kind of fictional heroes will emerge? What themes will be remembered?

How can each one of us change the narrative now? How can we draw from history and literature to develop empathy that will then foster conversations, even when we disagree?

In these days of bitterness and turmoil, we'd be wise to consider the words of Atticus Finch. 

"If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view ... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

If you don't know where to start with people, try a book first.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.