Each stage of parenting creates new expertise.
Moms of infants are walking encyclopedias on car seats, diapers and sleep schedules (or lack thereof). Toddler parents know all the indoor and outdoor playgrounds within a 10-mile radius and which 30-minute television show is entertaining enough to buy you time to prepare dinner or fold laundry.
Elementary school moms and dads become go-to gurus of play dates and birthday parties, recreational sports leagues and art classes, spelling lists and multiplication tables, state capitals and summer camp options.
And then, with the advent of middle school, that smug sense of having it all under control starts to unravel. Those children we've nurtured and protected have more freedom. They've been developing their own interests, beyond what we've fed them. They choose their own clothes, their own books, their own TV shows, their own friends.
Suddenly it seems as if your child's interests are totally independent of your own — a natural evolution that nevertheless takes us expert parents by surprise.
Cooper was in middle school when he developed an interest in nuclear engineering. While I had a vague idea of the existence of nuclear engineers, I didn't know enough to even consider it as a possible career for my son.
He spent his junior year of high school researching the effects of small modular nuclear reactors in a community setting — words that I didn't know went together. This year he's devoting even more time to the field, creating original work related to nuclear engineering as part of an independent study. He's working with a mentor engineer from Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant, a partnership that he initiated after weeks of cold calls, emails, interviews and LinkedIn maneuvering.
Thanks to Cooper, I now know that nuclear power plants provide about 20 percent of the nation's electricity, that the production of nuclear energy is carbon-free, and that safely run plants offer nothing to fear. I am no expert in the field, but I'm happy to support my son as he tries to become one.
I offer a different kind of support for one of Katie's passions. She was in elementary school when she elected to become vegetarian. I adjusted her meals — and some of ours — accordingly. She's survived more than five years without meat. Now, in the middle of eighth grade and after extensive research, she has chosen a vegan diet.
This means she eats no animal-based products — no cheese, no eggs, no ice cream. It's not a lifestyle I would choose. I don't need steak, but I'm pretty sure I can't survive without chips and queso.
Katie isn't interested in converting me or her brother or anyone else, for that matter. She's not offended in the presence of a rack of ribs or a hunk of roast beef. But she is unwavering in her commitment to her choice, in support of her own health, the environment and the treatment of animals.
Together she and I are trying a new vegan recipe each week. Thai peanut noodles, toor dal with cumin, quinoa and black bean salad with lime dressing. I'm hovering, on the lookout for calorie count and adequate protein while teaching her to look for the same. Occasionally I remind her that she can choose to return to animal products or even meat without judgment.
I'm no expert in veganism, and I may never be, as long as I continue to embrace the inherent comfort in dairy. Yet I'll willingly root for Katie's choice and give her the freedom to become her own kind of expert.
Perhaps that's the real expertise we need to develop while parenting teens — stepping back, trusting those strong souls we've been nurturing from the very beginning and being open to what they can teach us.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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| Cooper's nuclear engineer mentor took us on a tour of Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant. |
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