The other day I was in the cafe at Bookmans watching a two year-old have a meltdown. (First, just let me say how much I don’t mind it when other people’s children throw a fit. It doesn’t matter how piercing the scream, how nasal the whine, how violently they kick the back of my seat: if it is not my child, then the disruption doesn’t bother me in the least. Really: I’ve even stayed sanguine after being vomited on by other people’s children, because at least I know—unlike the parents—that this will almost certainly be the only time I will be puked on all day. So yeah, trust me: when I was watching this child have her temper tantrum it was not with annoyance, or even self-righteousness, but rather with a happy little voice buzzing in my brain that said, over and over, “That’s not me, that’s not me, that’s not me…)
And then, of course, her parents went and said something to the child that completely ruined my happy little buzz: “I can’t wait until you’re old enough to just tell us what you want.” Because that statement reminded me that my children are now at that magic age when they are completely capable of telling me what they want, and have been for some time, and yet, when it comes to understanding them, I would gladly trade an inarticulate toddler for a (semi) articulate teenager any day of the week.
For one thing, the things a toddler want actually make sense. In fact, they are remarkably similar to the things I want as well. Think about it: here’s what a magic “toddler translator” would reveal to us.
“I want a cookie!” their shrieks would say. (Me, too!)
` “I want to be carried!” (As do I!)
“I want to be made happy by being given something that in all likelihood doesn’t even exist!” (Same here!)
See? Toddlers make sense. It doesn’t matter that they don’t have the words to tell you what they want, because at least the things they want are normal human desires. Teenagers, on the other hand, want things that would require a whole other verb tense just to explain. Things like, “I want you to go away/come here/leave me alone.” Or, “I want you to be concerned/leave me alone/you never loved me/go away/where are you when I need you/leave me alone.” What?
And then, of course, there are the requests that they phrase in normal everyday English, and yet still don’t make sense. Requests like: “But why can’t I hitchhike to California this weekend? It’s my life.” And “It’s none of your business where I spent last night. Can I have some money? Because I’m going back tonight, that’s why.”
And let’s not forget that when a toddler doesn’t hear the answer they want, they just scream. A teenager actually tries to debate their way into a yes. (I would rather hear that piercing shriek of righteous indignation than have to endure arguments on how useless algebra is and how seat belts actually kill more people than they save. And please, spare me for the rest of my life from hearing any more about the Many Wonderful Uses of Hemp.)
I think, though, that the single greatest difference between dealing with a toddler and a teenager is that, at least with a toddler you believe (as the parents at Bookmans clearly did) that one day things will surely get better. With teenagers, it’s all you can to do to hold on to the belief that things will, maybe, possibly, hopefully, not get any worse.
And even that is a tough sell most of the time.