On Sunday I gassed up my car to make yet another trek from Houston to Centerville, Texas and then back to Houston. It's more or less an every other weekend thing we've been doing for 5 years.
I'm sure there are a lot of divorced parents who can relate to the "midway" meeting place. I've seen many of you at the same gas station where I meet my ex. I see your weary looks and quick exchanges to hurry and get back on the road. But let me give you another perspective on these tiresome journeys. One that might brighten up your next weekend exchange.
About the time we moved to Houston, my then 14-year-old decided to metamorphose into some alien child I didn't know. Technically, it's called puberty, but in my house it is called "hell." For the next several years, I just prayed I would someday get my sweet little girl back. Well, that never happened, but when she emerged from the grips of adolescence she became a beautiful, sweet and opinionated young lady.
Let me clarify on her behalf. She was never a "bad" girl. She didn't do drugs, she didn't lie, cheat, steal, drink or get into trouble with the boys. As she would say, she was not a "bad girl" and I should have been happy with that fact alone. I was thankful she was a good girl, but the constant arguing and fighting made me want take an extended leave of absence and find the nearest mountain and jump. She was argumentative, failing classes and I didn't believe she was trying her hardest. She was stubborn, hard-headed and manipulative. We had screaming matches that I'm sure was heard miles away. Taking her phone away sometimes came close to blows and even some small pushing matches.
The girl is taller and stronger than me and she could have easily taken me down if she wanted. But, she didn't because I held the key ... actually, I held the keys to the Jeep, the service for the cell phone and there was the final threat of living without anything that required electricity.
Although I believe my consistent disciplining helped, it was really a suggestion made by her dad that was the breakthrough. I thought he was an idiot when he told me to just "listen' to her. Well, I thought I was listening to her and I was tired of that strategy because I still wasn't going to give into her demands.
It was during one of our many 2-hour drives to Centerville that taught me how to listen. I told her she could plead her case and I was going to listen and not say a word until she was completely finished and then she would have to give me the same courtesy. I also told her that I still didn't have to agree wtih her and she didn't have to agree with me.
It's a little known fact that road trips create an atmosphere conducive to getting kids to talk to you. Get them in a car alone for a couple of hours and they will spill the beans on just about any subject. So, she talked and I listened. She kept talking and I kept listening and she talked some more and I listened some more. The longer I let her talk the the more insight she gave about what was really going on in her life. With girls there's always a story and then there's the story about the story.
Everytime things got heated between us, I looked forward to getting her in the car and hashing it out because it was these sessions that finally settled down the atmosphere at home. There's a lot more to the story, but she did emerge from her volatile years a little sooner than most and just in time for us to really enjoy the last year and a half of high school before she graduated.
During my most recent trip to Centerville, my 19-year-old daughter had to work, but would be seeing her dad when she drives up for the start of school. I missed having her in the car and my mind started to wander about all our little talks on the road.
I can't believe how fast those years went by. I'm going to miss our bi-weekly, 2-hour gab sessions. But, just as I was getting sentimental, I was shocked back to reality. My 13-year-old daughter was looking at me and (fake) sighing because she wanted me to put in her favorite CD.
This time I'm ready ... bring on the road trips!
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