I Have Found the Secret Connection For Adult Children and Their Parents
Hint: Coke is still the real thing and we are now, indeed, Back to the Future.
I have found the secret to closing the generation gap between parents and emerging adults. My adults are 24 and 22 years old and since I discovered this secret, never have I been more relevant. Never have I been more “cool”. Adult parenting — I have crushed it. And I am willing to share my secret with you in this post. It’s easier than you dreamed possible.
Don’t get me wrong; I do remember and acknowledge how mystifying the space is between when you were born and when your children were born.
I will never forget the moments of teenage angst when I felt I needed to tow my parents out of the 1960s (when they grew up and married). And if I couldn’t successfully bring them forward to the reality of my 1980s modern outlook, my responsibility was to at least emit a disgusted look whilst rolling my eyes. And I don’t mean it as an expression; I really did roll-my-eyes. In fact, it appeared to me that they were, more accurately, stuck in the Victorian Era with their views and rules.
To explain my point, allow me to share one of my most embarrassing teenage horror stories. 1984. Grade 10. March Break.
My Dad got the idea that we would have a family outing to the big city of Toronto to partake of the Sportsman’s Show at Exhibition FairGrounds. This announcement evoked dichotomous emotions:
Yes! Toronto is so much cooler than our small town owning only one traffic light.
Gaw! I have to go with my family like a baby who is not old enough to go with her friends.
Yes! Sportsman’s Show should be cool.
Gaw! I will probably have to look after my little brother and go to the little-kid booths.
“Okay, I will go,” I announced to my Dad to assert that it was my decision (as if I had a choice).
So on a mild, mushy March day we all piled into our big sudan and were told to buckle our seatbelts up. This made no sense to me. Just another dumb rule. I never had to wear a seatbelt when I was a kid. Premier Bill Davis decided to make it law when I was 8 years old. Down the road we drove for two hours. And for two hours we had to listen to Dad’s radio station playing the best of the Everlye Brothers. And why?
“Because I am your father, that’s why. And as long as I own this car, we will listen to my music”.
Gaw! I knew this road trip was going to be torture. All my friends had Walkmans to play their own music cassette tapes on. If I had one, I could have plugged in my own earphones and be spared the injurious old-people music. Little did I know but the music was going to be the least of my embarrassments on this memorable family outing.
We arrived in Toronto. Everything about the big city excited me. Everything was so modern: the lights, the fashion, the multiple car highways, the skyscrapers.
“Shirley! Did you see the price to park in that lot at the Ex! I am not paying that!”
Dad parallel parked the car along a side street where it was cheaper metered parking but it meant we would have to take public transit to get to the Sportsman’s Show.
All five of us toppled out of the car while a family debate was in session. Topic: should we wear our skidoo-jackets? It was still cold to walk but then we would have to pay for coat check when we arrived and everyone knows that is a waste of money. What E-V-E-R the family decided didn’t affect me. I was not wearing some hick skidoo jacket to TORONTO. I was wearing my stirrup pants, leg warmers and oversized sweater. I did not neeeeed a coat. Dad was about to pull rank on the coat idea until mom gave him the “pick-your-battles-evil-eye.”
What happened next will make your skin crawl. You will shake your head in disbelief but I assure you it’s the absolute truth.
Dad pulled five pairs of RUBBER BOOTS out of the car and lined them up in a row according to size.
“I am NOT wearing thoooooose!”
“Oh yes you are. You are not going to wreck your nice shoes in this slush”.
“Are you SERIOUS?!”
“Yes, it’s too wet out for you to wear your shoes”.
My brothers were unaffected by the orders and were removing their shoes.
“I am NOT wearing those dorky boots in Toronto”.
And do you know what he said next???
“Well, nobody knows you.”
That just took the cake. I pivoted on my left foot and stomped ahead, knowing that my Mom would once again balance the injustice and mouth to my Dad, “Just let her go” as Dad placed green Co-op farm supply hats on my brothers.
My annoyance with my parents faded into excitement, anticipating the subway ride (Wondering how it's possible to swing from annoyance to excitement on a dime? Thanks to adolescent hormones it is possible!) I tried my best to look urban and wait for the train as if it was an everyday occurrence for me. I looked back to see my rubber-boot-wearin’ family and stepped a little closer to a nearby Urbanite.
The subway arrived suddenly and stopped abruptly; it was as if the train was also a teenager and was annoyed to stop for passengers. I entered as quickly as I could, not sure how long the doors remained open. My family plunked together near the door while I walked to the very back to sit as far away as possible. I could pretend I was a normal Torontian. At least I could until…
“Kelly!”
I pretended not to hear.
“Hey, Kelly!!” This time it was louder.
This was getting embarrassing.
“Kelly, did you know I lived here while I was going to school for Xray technician?”
Of course I knew. He only told me every-time-we-came-to-Toronto.
“I used to take the subway down from Scarborough where I was staying with your Auntie Marg. Mount Sinai Hospital, right downtown here.”
Perhaps if I didn’t say anything, he would stop.
“And your Mother went to Teacher’s College here, didn’t you Shirley.”
A quieter voice confirmed.
“Well, yes I did except I was staying on the other side in Etobicoke with your Aunt Mary Caroline.”
Now the memories were flooding into Dad.
“And we didn’t have much money to go on dates so I used to meet your mom at the airport and we would watch the airplanes take off, isn’t that right Shirley?”
“Well, yes Vince. We also played catch in the park.”
I really hoped the people listening knew playing catch meant throwing a baseball around and not some other dating ritual.
My cover was broken now and I figured everyone in the subway now knew I was not from the city. That I didn’t belong here. So I let them reminisce on until we arrived at Exhibition Grounds to walk to the Sportsman’s Show. I decided there was not much to be done about the generation gap between me and my parents but I did vow that I would be a cool, up to date modern Mother when it was my turn. The Sportsman’s Show turned out to be a lot of fun and I actually liked having my brothers there. However, that was a well kept secret from my parents.
My vow to be a cool, modern Mother didn’t really pan out. I still experienced the rolled eyes and was told I was behind the times on many occasions.
Once your children become tweens, the generation crack begins to change the landscape. Once they are in the throws of adolescence, the crack becomes a gap.
By the time they move away from home, the gap is a canyon.
It becomes a canyon because when we are adult parenting, we don’t know our place. They don’t want our opinion anymore. They don’t need it because our opinion is outdated anyway.
Should we buy a house (me) or rent all our life (them)?
Should we change jobs (them) to get more experience or be loyal and slug it out with the firm that first bet on you (me)?
Do I need a car (me) or can I just rent one on demand (them)?
Should I buy a book (me) or read it electronically (them)?
Should I get married (me) or avoid the extravagant costs of a wedding by cohabiting (them)?
Just this week, my Dad tried to get me a haircut appointment in his area because pandemic restrictions had closed salons in my city. Why? “Because, when you have a pretty face you should not cover it up.” No really, WHY? “Because your hair looked better when you had it short.” Dig deeper… why? Because all the girls in his Orangeville High School wore their hair short like Jackie Kennedy. That’s right. Because he is behind the times. Sheesh. Does it ever end?
Last week, my 23 year old daughter broke it to me. My Covid hair do’s side part was not going to cut it. Centre parts are a more modern look nowadays. “But I have always had a side part,” I retorted to which she simply nodded while sporting an all-knowing grin.
The only things we know for certain are death, taxes and… parents thrashing to stay current and relevant.
And that brings me to my new discovery that I promised to share with you. I am now relevant to my young adult children again!
The answer? NINETEEN EIGHTIES!
Yes! I was a teenager in the 1980s and that is now a superpower! The 80s are back!
Let's just start with the clothes I never threw out! Baggy denim jackets, chunky gold jewelry, Princess Diana sleeves, shoulder pads, high waisted bathing suits, oversized sweaters. 1980s styled jeans are now actually called “Mom Jeans”! Bring’em all out again. If they look used, that’s fine too cause thrift shopping is also in style! Thanks to hair salons being closed during the pandemic, our Covid Hair translates to the “big” hair of the 80s. My daughter tells me mullets are back too. Let’s keep that one a secret.
Then there’s music. There is a new song out by Maisie Peters called, wait for it, “JOHN HUGHES MOVIE”. That’s right. That’s the name of the song! An artist called Bad Child has a song called “Mannequin” where he highlights the Phil Collins “In the air tonight” drums. They are bringing it back, baby. And some have never left! Bruce Springsteen has a new album out with the E-Street band. Heck, so does Paul McCarny, Ringo Star and Bob Dylan!
And movies? Try watching “Sing Street” and tell me the 80s are not back. Heck, Tom Cruise is still producing Top Gun Movies (hopefully out this summer) as a cryogenically frozen 18 year old.
The 20 minute home workout is now back! It’s just our covid workouts online!
We can talk to our children again and we will sound ever so cool. Just talk like you did in high school. Let me bring it all back for you:
“Gag me with a spoon.”
“Party on dude.”
“No way!”... “Way!”
“Where’s the beef?”
“Bodacious”
“Radical!”
“Duh!”
“Totally tubular!”
“Take a chill pill.”
Last week we turned our car in off lease and picked up a new one. A new one with RED LEATHER INTERIOR. ‘Howse’ that for a throw-back?
All this is to say that parenting is hard. Each decade has its difficulties and all are an equally special adventure. There are many books, blogs and podcasts advising a gamut of strategies for raising children. There is less focussing upon the shifts involved with letting go when the rearing is done. Like all the parents before me, I struggle as Taylor and Spencer require my assistance less and less. I guess I need them now more than they need me. I miss my little redheads.
That’s why it’s exciting to know that while I have to let my kids leave the nest, I don’t have to leave the 1980s. And if evoking my 1980s self brings me connection to my adult children, then I will cherish those receptor sites. I think it’s okay for us old folkies to reminisce about the past, to our glory days. The glory days of our youth and the glory days of our children’s youth.
ADDENDUM:
I presented my Father in this post with my teenager lens. As with many of us, once I grew up, I valued the personality, lessons and experiences with him. I have chronicalled an amazing lesson he taught me in a previous blog post called: Giant Effects of Fatherhood.
My Mom offered gentle lessons when I was growing up. Read Spelling Mistakes Lead to Resiliency to find out how.
In the 80s, there were punks, rockers, preppies. Which were you?
I now live in the city of Toronto and my emotions are torn. I still am enchanted by the bright lights and twinkle of the city but simultaneously miss the quiet, still connections of rural living.
And I just had a great idea! In the spirit of bringing the 80s back, why not convince our hair stylists to bring back the perm? I miss my perms. Spiral perms, root perms, kinky perms… all made my fine hair look oh, so big and full.
