You Have The Right To Remain Silent, But Why Should You?

Tis the season – to debate, that is. You cannot miss it; all of the signs are in the air, and on the lawns. It is here again, an election year. Airwaves filled with promises of “I will do” and accusations of “he didn’t do.” Hence, because of all of the televised haggling and finger pointing, I find myself spending more of my time during this season online – well, that’s my story and I am sticking to it.

Recently, I signed onto a new – at least to me – social networking site appropriately called Twitter. This site allows you to send and read the updates of others, or send “tweets” out to your “circle of friends”, to which you can add people to follow and others can follow you.

On this particular evening, the Twitter halls were reverberating with “tweets” about the Presidential Debate. Noticing more than a few tweets with whom I am familiar, I jumped headlong into the fast and furious debate. It is a free country, right? Everyone is free to agree or disagree…

As the televised debate progressed, although not as quickly as the debate on Twitter, I noticed out the corner of my eye, the number of my “followers” decreasing by one.

What? I was puzzled, maybe I had misread the number of followers I had previously. On the debate continued. Then I noticed it again. Again, one of my followers had fallen off. I was down by two!

What was going on? What did I say? Had I unknowingly offended one of my followers? Had I tweeted something untoward? Had I made some joke or offhand comment that could have been taken the wrong way? What happened?

No, little tweet; don’t go away! I’m sorry, I did not mean what I said, whatever it was that I said.

Wait a minute! I had to get a hold of myself. What was I doing? Apologizing for voicing my concerns, my thoughts, and my views? In the land of the free and the home of the brave, was I allowing myself to be penalized for speaking my piece? Was I willing to muzzle my voice for the sake of … who? Who were these people who had abandoned me the minute I dared to speak my mind?

You do have the right to remain silent, but why should you? Had this happened 10 or 20years ago, I would have handled the slight differently. This online rejection would have caused the younger diva in me to stew for weeks about the online snub. Now, at this stage, this stuff just rolls off my back. My sense of obligation to go along to get along has run its course.

This is a great big world as we forge new relationships online and have more exposure to others and their values. You will make some friends, you may make some enemies. This is the time in your life where you are unafraid to speak your mind. Fearless enough to say what it is that you want and confidant enough to say what you will no longer put up with or tolerate. No more going along to get along.

I am realizing that there will be times in this journey when my point of view, my way of thinking, doing or being may not be popular and may not line up with the status quo – how things used to be or how others thought they knew me to be.

And, yes, I may lose some “followers”. But the ones that remain – my true “tweets” will be the genuine, authentic items as will yours as you progress through Mid Life Divadom.

People who are true to you, accepting of you and your foibles, whether they agree or not. That is what it is all about at this stage - genuine, authentic relationships, not fair weather friends or followers who will stick with you as long as you behave, think, or act “as you should”. You will lose followers going your own way. So be it.

An interesting note though, on the same evening that I lost two followers, I gained fifteen. What does that say?

So Now You're Mad???

“Oh, so now you’re mad?” I asked the Teenage Wonder also known as Son. I roll my eyes. Son is mad because I’ve laid down the law - again. Moodily he sulks over his morning cereal because I - the irritating, life ruining parental unit - have done yet another thing to supposedly ruin his youth. You name it, anything seems to do it these days.

Son and I have been on our own for fourteen years, and I am not saying that it’s been easy. Me, the single mom, am finding out everyday that raising a teenage son is not for the faint of heart. Son is not much of a conversationalist, the king of one word responses: yeah, no, and occasionally I don’t know. OK, well, that’s three words. Sometimes I feel that Son and I don’t have anything in common, that we are lurching our way through unchartered territory.

You know, I am beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that if more parents were privy to the fact that the teenage years would be so turbulent and raising said teenagers would be such a “joy”, there would be a much smaller human race population on the planet and hence by deduction, less global warming, but alas, that is another column.

But, back to my story, I have once again ruined Son’s life by refusing to let him have his way about one thing or another. Again. He prepares for school, giving me the silent treatment, dragging his backpack and his attitude behind him. I want to laugh, as I have seen this performance a time or two already before today’s episode, this little demonstration designed to “convince” me to change my mind.

I won’t.

You know, as I watch this little performance for what seems like the hundredth time, I am reminded of my own mother raising six moody teenagers of her own. As I raise my own moody teenager, I wonder how on earth the poor woman escaped with even a shred of sanity.

But something she said all of those years ago stuck in my mind. It’s funny the things you remember once you are raising a child of your own. My mother always said, “I’m your mother. I’m not your friend. I will love you, provide for you, take care of you. I will clothe and feed you. You don’t have to like me and you probably won’t. You don’t even have to fear me, but you probably should. But you will respect me.”

To be perfectly honest, I think I actually did fear her as well as respect her. Four feet eleven inches of parent seemed a lot bigger when it was hopping mad. Even now, when she gets going - and she still can - I am smart. I know what to do. Disengage and vacate the premises until the coast is clear.

You know, it all makes sense to me now as I navigate the Straits of Teenage Angst with Son. Sometimes I just cannot believe the things I’ve seen when Son and I go out to a mall or to one store or another and I witness how some teenagers speak to their parents.

No reverence. No respect. Parents too busy trying to earn their child’s “friendship” rather than earn their child’s respect. Daughters who tell their mothers to “shut up” because she “doesn’t have a clue” what she’s talking about. Or a son who mutters “bitch” when he’s out of his mother’s earshot.

When witnessing these interactions, Son looks at me and I look at him. Son shakes his head in disbelief. I do the same.

Son knows. He’s heard the speech a time or two. I am your mother, not your friend. You will respect me. Period. The end.

Fast forward to today. Son eventually gets over what it was that I’d done earlier that had ruined his life at that moment. Hours later, after a long day at school and he has returned home, Son calls just to check in. He’s in a good mood. Our morning rift is long forgotten and all is right in his world once again.

After all of the drama, the pouting, the sulking. I think that when it’s all said and done, once Son has left the teenage years behind and is maybe raising a “little darling” of his own, I think that Son and I will indeed be friends. He’ll finally understand the wisdom passed down to me from my mother and finally down to him.

And, I will have his respect. Not as a tyrant who would not let him have his way. But as a person. The same kind of respect that I give my mother, even to this day. And, I am happy to say that today, I can call her friend.

That’s worth it all in the end.

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