This Is Us
Our Grown-Up Kids Have Some Ouchy Lessons for Us
There is wisdom in youth, and we should heed their challenging opinions
There I stand, weeping in the dressing room at a higher-end lingerie store. The very accommodating young women there have cheerfully measured my chest without a hint of judgement and helped me to gather various styles; I’ve got some with lace and others with satin, but none quite work. I try a very pretty teal bra that gaps in the front, but more devastating to me in that moment are the squishy blobs sticking out of the sides. Before taking off my top, I had chanted to myself, “No shame. No shame. No shame.” Literally, I did this out loud. I knew what my mind was capable of.
Bra shopping is just the worst, isn’t it?
I have, all my adult life, had issues around feeling displeased with my body’s appearance. Haven’t so many of us? But that’s not really the rabbit hole I want to plunge down at this moment. (I know the mantras: “We are powerful women, no matter our size.” “Beauty is as beauty does.” “Exercise for health, not for looks.” All true. Every last one.)
But you know the phrases that are getting to me these days? That are clanging around in my head like the clappers on the bells of a cathedral? They’re coming from my daughters. And they pinch a little (kind of like one of those ill-fitting bras I was trying on).
While on a visit to my eldest child’s home in Los Angeles last fall, I pressed play on the inner tape that I have been reciting since I was a teen: too fat, too fat, too fat. And my oldest daughter looked at me and said, “I have grown bored with your self-doubt.” Ouch. Oh, wow. It struck me with such severity that I typed the exact quote into my phone within a few minutes of her utterance; I wanted to remember that moment. It was September 2, and my 30-year-old had just abruptly, firmly but lovingly, drawn a boundary.
My younger daughter, a fitness trainer by profession, tells me at least once a week to stop worrying about my appearance and exercise for strength and flexibility. The last time I went down a self-critical path within her earshot, she actually became angry at me. She told me, “I won’t listen to the negative talk.” She’s raising a daughter of her own now, and she doesn’t want little Hazel to hear the messages I transmitted, without meaning to, all those years to her.
I have found that they manage to maintain a stubborn optimism in the face of it all. They are growing into their own youthy wisdom.
This story isn’t about body love, though. Here is the learning I want to really contemplate: My generation’s kids, now adults in their own right, have wisdom to share with us. They have seen the shortcomings of their elders and love us anyway. But they don’t want to be burdened with our angst, the self-flagellation, and doubt that we have clung to since we watched an insecure but gorgeous Molly Ringwald apply lipstick from between her cleavage.
Our children don’t want to lug the baggage of our youth any more than they are willing to cart home the boxes of our discarded belongings. They’re “bored” with our blues. And we, their parents and grandparents, need to listen. My children’s generation has their own hurdles to face: climate change, an unfriendly economy, a sense of destabilization in world governments. Kids to feed. Dogs to care for. Jobs to find. But I have found that they manage to maintain a stubborn optimism in the face of it all. They are growing into their own youthy wisdom. They have things to say. Good things. Challenging things.
Youth has always had the temerity to speak wisdom to its elders.
When Jesus visited the temple at the age of 13, the rabbis were amazed at his teaching. Yes, Jesus is Special, a unique case. And yet, I believe many of the young do have things to teach us. Kids say more than the darndest, cutest things; there can be a clarity to their words and a richness in their observations. When that richness evolves to be seasoned with life experience, it can create adults capable of amazing perceptiveness and kindness.
There are many young people who have wisdom; granted, it is a different wisdom than the type that comes from life experience. If you’ve ever done the laundry of a seven-year-old, you know it’s essential to empty the pockets, for there, treasure is gathered: feathers and pebbles and dice. Marbles and sticks of chewing gum. Silly Putty. Once, our own pockets were full of treasure, too.
There is a thought, a whimsical wish, maybe, that when an infant is born, she still knows all the wisdom and beauty of Heaven, from whence she came. Little by little, it is forgotten amid the complexity of living on Earth. Perhaps our 10-year-olds, 20-year-olds, and 30-year-olds are still just close enough to Heaven that they hear whispers of truth from there. By the time we’re 50, I imagine our heads are too clouded to hear that particular strain of the purely Divine voice. Our ears are attuned to a different aspect of the Divine One: The weighty matters of self and world, nation and clan, ring in our ears. I expect that will shift again in another 20 years, when we start to shed all those weighty matters and return to the glittering pocket fortunes of the soul: time appreciated, loved ones kissed, kindnesses both given and received.
Who are these wise youth? Where are they? There are obvious ones. Malala Yousefzai comes to mind. She speaks with a wisdom that is so anchored in truth born of suffering that it is hard to imagine her faltering. Samantha Smith wrote a letter to Yuri Andropov that got her invited to the Soviet Union to share her message of peace. But not all of the wisdom coming from youth is of a scale that leads to book deals and international renown. Sometimes it is revealed in the wisdom of advice given at the right time.
When I left the mall, I posted something on Facebook about my bra-induced tears, and within minutes, my California-dreaming daughter called me. We talked for an hour. She shared her own struggles and fears and listened to mine with compassion, especially when I explained that my dissatisfaction is not so much about appearance these days as it is age and the near-constant literal physical pain of it. She reminded me of my own goals, challenging me on my excuse-making; she referred me to a website where workouts are body positive and inclusive, a far cry from the exercise videos my generation grew into adulthood with.
If you’re blessed to have children, teens, or millennials in your life, go grab an ice cream or an iced latte with them. Open your ears, your heart, your mind. Let them share some of what they’ve learned from watching us Gen Xers and boomers flail around a bit. There’s no shame in a little arm fat dangling over a bra cup. And there’s no shame in listening to wise whippersnappers as they grow into their own adulthood. No shame, no shame, no shame.
