Silencing the Whispers

 

Ever since I became a father ten years ago, I've seen my teaching job as a daily peek into the future.  As hormones blossomed in the young hearts of my eighth graders each spring, I would take careful notes.  As foolish boys tried to impress girls with paper airplanes and regrettable haircuts, I imagined a fourteen-year-old version of Henry, long and gangly, awkward and goofy, performing for giggling girls.  When girls suffered their first heartbreaks and dissolved in tears, I saw my own daughters, and wondered if they'd come to me for comfort, or if they'd turn instead to their best friends.  

Sometimes I would convince myself that all that time spent in front of the crystal ball actually gave me an advantage.  While other parents feared adolescence and puberty like the plague, I would surely navigate those years flawlessly.  After all, I've been soaking in it for the past nineteen years.

Recently, though, I've begun to think that even though I might know what's coming, I still have no idea what's coming, if that makes any sense.  The eighth grade can certainly be difficult for boys, but it's the girls who really have to walk through the minefield, and there are times when it scares me to death to think that we'll be sending Alison out into that world in just two years.

In early September, just a week or so into the school year, the father of one of my students came to my door during the last period of the day and asked how his daughter was doing.  She had been coming home later than usual, and he was worried she might be spending time with a boy.  When I offered to call her out of class to speak with him, he immediately declined.  His plan was to follow her as she left school to see where she went.

A few weeks ago a former student of mine came to visit me after school.  She had been one of my favorites when she was in my class two years ago, a bright girl with a bright future.  She instinctively sat down in her old desk and wept as she told me about a failing grade in chemistry and an argument with her parents.  Most troubling, though, were the troubles she was having with her boyfriend.  She described him alternately as a sweetheart and an ass, and told me that he was pressuring her to give him sexually explicit pictures. Equally disturbing, he wanted her to drop out of activities that took her away from him, and she admitted that she couldn't really act like herself when they were together.  When I asked her if she ever spoke to her parents about him, she responded, "I can't talk to my parents like this."

During class today, I intercepted a note that had been travelling back and forth between two girls. 

Girl 1: What's wrong?  R U sad b-cuz he is not here??

Girl 2: YA!

Girl 1: Jenny and me think he likes you!!

Girl 2: I doubt it!

Girl 1: Y??

Girl 2: Cause I'm ugly why would he ever lay eyes on me!

Today after school I spoke with a girl who was in my class last year, and she tearfully explained that she wanted to leave home because she didn't believe that her mother, sister, or step-father would miss her if she left.  Not surprisingly, there is a boyfriend, and she talks about wanting to marry him.  She is fifteen years old.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I don't stay up nights worrying that Alison will someday travel down one of these roads, but there is a voice whispering questions in the back of my head.  What will I do if I stop trusting my daughter?  What will happen if she can't talk to me about her problems?  What if she stops believing that she's beautiful?  What if she convinces herself that I wouldn't miss her if she were gone?

I silenced the whispers when I got home tonight.  After helping Alison decipher the metaphors in her homework, we headed out to the driveway to play basketball.  I passed the ball to her over and over, and watched as she dribbled in for lay-ups or turned to sink jump shots, one after the other.  We worked and played and laughed for thirty minutes or so until it was too dark to see the ball.  Alison made one final shot, and we headed in for dinner.

During those thirty minutes, everything suddenly became clear.  Alison will be fine.

Comments

[Joann Ludwig]

Yes, Alison will be fine. There's no way you can stop the heartbreaks, but you will be there to pick up the pieces and see her through the pain and she will know that.

[Michael Duenes]

I see at my school the same things you see, and so often it's because the father is either not there or unengaged with his daughter. With a father like you, she'll be fine. May your tribe increase, my friend.