TEENAGERS

Does anyone really remember what they were like as teenagers? I don't mean recounting adventures, like thinking about a movie you once saw. I'm not talking about remembering things you did; those rememberances take on an unreal cast, like something that happened to someone else, maybe in a book once read.

But that form of recollection is about the best that I can do. I remember the things that I did, the ideas that I had about things; but it is very difficult, if not impossible to feel the way that I did then. The notions that I had then about life, mine and the world around me, are so far removed from my outlook today, that trying to relate to the me of twenty-five years or thirty years ago is as unlikely as trying to place myself in the head of the kid passing outside my window.

...Or the kid inside my windows. I have a fifteen year old son, and his behavior is so perplexing, frustrating, annoying, frightening, stupefyingly irrational at times......I could go on, but you get the picture.

Sometimes I want to ring...his...neck. Othertimes I find myself thinking, "He's not such a bad kid. In fact, we're pretty blessed to have a kid like him. He'll get over the other stuff!" Then he'll do something else flabbergasting, and I'll be back to having homicidal thoughts.

Rarely do I have these moments without reflecting, to some degree, on my own adolescent years. I don't think that my parents found me to be the most rational child either. Many of the same problems that our son is taking us, and himself through, I've already done, and then some.

The irony of it is, that rarely does that realization alter my feelings of helplessness, anger and fear about him. I've come to realize that that is because I don't really know that 'me' of so many years ago. I know of him, but I don't really know him. I don't relate to him much better than I do my son, who is so increasingly a mystery with each passing day.

I don't empathize much with the 'me' of my youth. Empathy requires a certain amount of identification with someone. With each passing year I identify less with who I was at sixteen years old. I understand him less. I also have the benefit of knowing what his misguided ideas got him in the long run, so I fear that my son will repeat many of my mistakes.

You know who I empathize with? Yep. You guessed it. My parents. My poor, long-suffering parents. Going through all my balderdash, yet never giving up on me. So I guess that I can take a lesson from those that I understand and identify with so well now, and not give up on this knothead little....and I'm not going to strangle him to death. My parents didn't strangle me, and though I probably haven't become all they had hoped, I think that they are probably smiling down on me now.

DEVOTION

Long time, no hear from, eh?

If I had anybody checking this out, I've probably lost them. Oh well. Things have been particularly hectic and trying for me lately, so please forgive my absence.

Have any of you ever seen Divorce Court? Pretty entertaining, huh? My wife and I like to catch it now and then so we can be reminded of how blessed we are. It's amazing how little devotion spouses have to one another.

"He keeps snoring all loud in my ear, your honor! I can't take it anymore!"

"She kept putting my fork on the right side of the plate, and she knows I like it on the left! There's only so much a man can take!"

I've been married for almost five years. Our first few years were rough. It was touch and go. If she hadn't finally started putting my fork on the left, I don't know what might've happened! (Just kidding!) My wife and I took our vows seriously. We figured out that a successful marriage is about compromise, a willingness to forgive and/or overlook perceived transgressions, and being able to put our egos aside and not treat our marriage as a win/lose competition, among other things.

We've got children. Besides our love for each other, we've got them to consider. They don't deserve to go through the hell that divorce usually means for the innocents caught in the middle.

I used to wonder, early in our marriage, what it would take for me to feel justified in leaving my wife. It was a very short list. There was infidelity, on her part (maybe, depending on degree and frequency); attempted murder, on her part (the attempt being on me); and repeated and severe mistreatment of our kids on her part.

One scenario that I don't remember ever envisioning was the possibility of serious, potentially life-threatening illness. How many spouses would be willing to allow their lives to be drastically altered? How many would be willing to nurse one's spouse through weeks, months or years of uncertainty, not knowing if they will live, and if so, if they will ever be the same?

You probably think that I am prompted to write this article by the Terri Schiavo case. You'd be wrong. I am inspired by a case much closer to home, so to speak. A friend whom I have known for the majority of my life is going through a similar situation. However, his response is much different from that of Mrs. Schiavo's husband.

The ongoing story of he and his wife and children is an inspiring one for me. I would hope that it would be for you as well.

I will not attempt to tell it myself. I am including a link to a story of love, courage and devotion. Do yourselves a favor and read it.

http://www.blackamericaweb.com/site.aspx/bawnews/chicago413