I have the September shakes.
I get this way whenever I meet someone who innocently smiles and proudly announces his or her son or daughter has just started the ninth grade.
I want to say, “Wipe that smile off your face,” but then I think, oh, let them enjoy the first few hours of naivete.
Every parent deserves warning that there is nothing quite like the ninth-grade year of high school. I wish all parents received a special alert with specific ideas about how to prepare and create a disaster plan for ninth grade. I’d call it a ninth-grade survival kit, but that positive spin really is deceptive.
On the first day of high school, you send your kid out the door in a full-blown anxiety attack. Six hours later, a monster has ambushed your child and taken up residency in your home. Parents stare helplessly at how to respond to the ninth grade monster.
The best approach for the parent of a ninth grader is to buckle down and get ready to hold on in the face of the stormy behavior.
Don’t give up. Don’t leave your house. Don’t panic. And try not to yell.
After much hand wringing, most parents try to give their monster some slack, freedom, rope, or whatever you call it in your house.
And perhaps some parents back off a bit because ninth-grade monsters can get ugly when they don’t get what they want.
Even children who never used tantrums will darken, sulk, throw tantrums and hurl themselves through the ninth grade.
But the truth is, the ninth-grade monster isn’t happy about much, so you can give and give and give thinking this will satisfy your monster. But it won’t. Then you are left with a bunch of permissions and agreements that make you queasy and your monster is – still – a monster.
Of course, you may be reading this and thinking, your monster is different. Not all monsters are the same. I agree each monster has a unique way of being a monster. I have survived four ninth graders in my home and hundreds of others in my work.
I’ve learned a few things by experimenting with my monsters.
Run your home like a science lab. Monsters respond well to parents who are curious and not bright enough to know it all. Ask questions, listen more than you speak, spend time observing things. I find these creatures to be very interesting.
What most parents lack is staying involved when your monster doesn’t want you around. Trust me, you must stay connected to their world. Insist on meeting all of your monster’s friends.
Stay connected by being someone who is useful. Be their driver, their cheerleader, provide the food, the love, the laughter and the shoulder to cry on.
Take them out for treats. Monsters have insatiable appetites.
Don’t go to bed angry at your monster.
The ninth-grade year is a great time to practice problem solving. You need to set some ground rules for arguing with your monster. I needed a shot of vitamin B, some over-the-counter Calm X and a quiet hour of Oprah before I was willing to negotiate with my monsters.
If things came up, I’d say, let’s discuss that tonight at 8:30. I would choose a time when my monsters would prefer to do other things. This makes them more motivated to resolve things quickly.
A big part of the ninth-grade year is making decisions. All monsters need to practice making decisions, using the judgment they have so far, and trying new things that are challenging.
Parents need to offer some opportunities where these experiences happen. Keep in mind that your monster must begin learning what they can from making decisions and choices, and accepting the results.
However, you don’t want the consequences to be permanent. This is why you have a lab. Test things with your monster.
No one wants their monster drinking, taking drugs, having sex and losing focus on their goals and opportunities. The challenge for a parent is to find something better to do.
Monsters need structured activities they love to do with a high degree of challenge and excitement.
Whatever you do, don’t let your monster completely set their own schedule and make all the rules. Your monster will fight with you about every rule. But it’s important to hold the line and set limits on curfews and activities.
You are still the parent. Though your child has transformed, your job hasn’t.
Sarri Gilman is a freelance writer living on Whidbey Island. Her column on living with meaning and purpose runs every other Tuesday in The Herald. She is a therapist, a wife and a mother, and has founded two nonprofit organizations to serve homeless children. You can e-mail her at features@heraldnet.com.
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