A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Parents Know Nothing — Right?
by Peggy Frutiger Hanson
May 23, 2007

We have a 15-year-old boy. When he turned 14, we were shocked to discover that we turned instantly stupid. We suddenly knew nothing about the world. Everything we suggested was wrong, old school and "two days ago." The worldly experience of a combined 97 years became worthless.

He is right in a way. We have an accumulation of data for a world that no longer exists. We still think in f-stops while he thinks pixels. We still "dial" a phone number. He "texts" a message without looking while he is waiting in the grocery line.

The good news is we need each other. We need him to help us understand a world that is changing at such a fast pace that we can barely understand the technology. He needs us for the widescreen picture of life, to see that which only the experienced eye can see.

Two years ago, we knew change was taking place when our son Beau got out of bed and took a shower. A seventh-grade boy jumping out of bed and into the shower on a Saturday morning is like seeing a snowman on a hot beach in July. After years of hearing about "girl germs" I learned that he was meeting some friends, and one of them was a girl. A girl! And he had a crush on her. I had not met the girl, but I learned her name was Madison.

About a week later, Beau sang a solo at his choir concert. While we waited for the concert to start, my husband and I scanned the concert program looking for a "Madison" in the alphabetical list of seventh-grade girls. We were especially attentive when the girls' choir sang. Who would catch the eye of our seventh-grade boy? Would she wear make-up or look athletic? Brown hair? How would she dress? This was his first crush. We were unbelievably curious. We scrutinized every girl in the girls' chorus. We narrowed it down to two young women. Then one.

My husband figured it out, not by predicting whom Beau might like, but simply by watching our son to see whom he looked at--who captured his attention.

In the car on the way home I asked Beau, "So is Madison in choir?"

"Yeah."

"Was she there tonight?"

"Yeah...."

"Does she have dark hair?" I asked.

"Yeeeaaah...," he said. "Well, it's brown. But kinda dark brown," he replied.

"In the last song when the boys and girls sang together, was Madison standing one down and one over from you?"

Silence.

"Beau?"

Beau stared straight ahead with a puzzled look on his face. Again I said, "Down one to your left and to my right?"

"Beau?"

There was a momentary pause before he turned to me. He said, "How did you know?? Again, a pause. "I mean--how did you know? There are 40 girls in the girls' choir. How could you possibly know?"

"So that was her? Oh, Beau, she is lovely. She is absolutely lovely!" I declared.

"How did you know?" he asked again.

"Beau, we are your parents," I said. "We know you. And she is just darling."

Beau smiled. He looked out the car window and, with a big smile on his face, shook his head and mused, "You know me too well."

Yes, we do. Someday in an even more distant world, he will come to us and complain that his teenage son or daughter thinks he knows nothing about anything. And we will tell him we know--it is supposed to be that way.

About the author:
Peggy Frutiger Hanson trains and runs in the marathon of motherhood. After fifteen years as a social worker and political activist, she returned to school for a graduate degree in psychotherapy. She says, "freelance writing helps me stretch and understand my changing role as my children grow." She has published essays in Sacred Journey and a Lutheran Women publication. She lives in the Twin Cities.