The parenting of a 16-year old is not unlike a dance, a very precise and confusing series of movements and steps performed to some complicated rhythm. The goal is to dance in unison or at least in sync with each other, guiding when needed and following when possible.
Regrettably, I’m not a very good dancer. I tend to lead when I should follow and follow when I should lead. And more often than not, I sit dances out (though less often these days). But on the occasion when we’re in sync, the result is wonderful and harmonious, and all together brief.
This is my last 16-year old. You would think that by now my dancing would have improved. But each partner is different, just like each teen, just like each of us. It’s a lifelong lesson, one I’ll never perfect, though I’ll never stop trying.