The Coolness of Being Thirteen

Thirteen is cool, says my eldest daughter Gisela, who should know. She says thirteen is when people take you seriously, because you're finally a teenager. Thirteen is different. It matters. You matter.

For me, hers is a bittersweet declaration. I am astounded by the lithe, strong, clever, independent-minded young woman she is turning into, but I'll admit -- I really liked the before-teen phase, with kids who were not self-aware about coolness, still mostly obedient, who still looked up to me as the ultimate font of knowledge, had no hangups about hiking with Mommy, playing family geography trivia games, and agreed that Star Trek marathons are a fantastic way to spend quality time together. These days, she'd much rather code Tumblr themes.

Mine is a selfish perspective, admittedly. But I suspect many parents in my spot also long for the days when their now-skeptical, slightly haughty teens were still kids, as well as wide-eyed, trusty companions & sidekicks, even as we embrace the people they are becoming.

I write 'kids' because Gisela has a younger brother Leo, who is also approaching teenhood. She is a few months past thirteen, he has a few months until thirteen. Leo pushes those teen buttons differently than Gisela because he is not her, and also because he is Autistic with a capital A. While Gisela will now debate with me outright about choices and chores, Leo -- who reserves the right not to speak unless it really matters -- will merely give me a sidelong glance to let me know that he heard me but has no intention of complying, then take off in the opposite direction.

What thirteen has not changed is their relationship with each other. They have never known a life outside each other's periphery, have always had a deep affection and connection with each other (though they both bicker like jaybirds with their eight-year-old sister India). Gisela is one of the few people who can help Leo calm down when he's distraught and not able to self-soothe. Leo always accepts Gisela as she is -- he doesn't care whether she has the right shoes, makeup, or hair (all potentially earth-shattering choices for Gisela's version of thirteen), he's always glad to see her. I am glad they remain the sweetest of companions to each other, even as they push back at me, even though I don't hold them even remotely responsible for how that pushing back makes my heart ache.

But whenever that pushing back really hurts, I can always remind myself how lucky our family is, just to have all three of our kids so alive and so healthy. Gisela and I just returned from a trip to visit friends in Ghana, a country that has had many successful vaccine campaigns. However, it was very clear during our visit that other African countries still struggle to get vaccinations to all those who deserve protection from vaccine-preventable disease. Gisela's good fortune in being fully vaccinated was not lost on her.

I am also glad my kids are alive and healthy, because when Leo was first diagnosed with autism, I was one of those smart, well-informed parents who nonetheless blamed vaccines. I regret this lapse in judgment, hope my ignorance was not contagious, and now work very hard to share legitimate vaccine information (i.e., the evidence is against a link to autism) in the autism and parent communities.

And I will continue to hug both my teens as hard as I can, any time they will let me. Even if it's not always cool.

This post is inspired by Shot@Life, an initiative of the United Nations Foundation that educates, connects and empowers the championing of vaccines as one of the most cost effective ways to save the lives of children in the world’s hardest to reach places.

During Shot@Life’s Blogust, 31 bloggers, one each day in August, are writing about moments that matter. For every comment on this post and the 30 other posts, Walgreens will donate a vaccine (up to 50,000 vaccines). A child dies every 20 seconds from a vaccine-preventable disease. We can change this reality and help save kids’ lives!

Sign up here for a daily email so you can quickly and easily comment and share every day during Blogust! Stay connected with Shot@Life at www.shotatlife.org, join the campaign on Facebook and follow them on Twitter.

Every last comment on this counts -- even a WOOT -- so spread the word, and help stop the spread of vaccine-preventable diseases.

Thirteen

Iz isn't a tweener any more -- she's thirteen now, she's passed into actual teenhood, and it's mesmerizing. I'm grateful she still respects us, talks with us, and values our opinion, and we try to take care to reciprocate. I'm fascinated by the talented, articulate, increasingly coltish girl we drag out of bed every morning. While I know not all girls her age turn banshee, I also know that I was a bitchy, self-absorbed teenager -- so it's possible things might go south or at least get distant. For now, I'm cherishing every moment.

So here's whats' going on with her.

She's getting a cell phone. Eep. I hope it doesn't lead to much more of this (in fairness, she's reading a book on the Kindle her grandparents gave her for Christmas).


She does still love her science. She rolls her eyes at the thought that someone wouldn't know what "phenotype" meant. When she corrects her little sister on the fact that coral is an animal, not a plant, she is specific: it's a cnidarian, like jellyfish. She read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks three times. She turned to Seymour and me after we took her to a recent Radiolab performance, with a hearfelt "Thank you for bringing me here!," and talked about the show for days afterward.

She's shadowing high schools, as that's where she'll be going in the fall. Since she was in preschool when this blog began*, that is freaky. Really damn freaky.

Soccer. She brings it. She spent a year working hard on her skills, and made it onto a team in the next bracket. (She also skunked some unsuspecting boys at school who challenged her to a match.) Her dad is supporting and encouraging and being a great soccer dad, but the gumption and drive are all hers.

There's still lots and lots of parenting, intense parenting. There's yelling. She and I are both short-tempered. We are also often contrite with each other, because neither of us stays mad once the yelling is over. When she is rotten, I tell her, "You are absolutely under my power, you need to make me want to help you. I don't have to do anything for you." When I am rotten and unfair, she spotlights every inconsistency in my argument or follow-through with courtroom-level accuracy.

She believes in fairness, justice, and consideration. When she is upset by the way some of the kids at her school diss each other, I tell her that debating someone by targeting what they cannot control, like where they live, is a weak-minded coward's approach -- and she takes it to heart. She's got the "Not Acceptable" anti R-word video on tap, and never fails to whip it out. If she thought it would help, I'm sure she'd knock on the door of every Proposition 8 supporter who dares to deny her godfather equal rights. She grumbles and stumbles with etiquette sometimes, but she also knows Hell is for Children who don't write thank you notes.

She's humble. She never told anyone at school about her or Leo being in the Apple video last March.

She's sweet to Leo -- playing Fruit Memory or other games he likes with him on the iPad, showing  him new ones, holding his hand whenever he needs it, singing to him, soothing him, taking him seriously. He adores her. She's even sweet to Mali, when Mali allows it. They'll adore each other eventually.

She's her own person. She's been a vegetarian for months, and has never wavered -- probably because she thought about it and read up on it for two years beforehand (she does miss bacon and pork bao). She loves musicals, was a Rubik's cube for Halloween, refuses to cave into my pressure about what to wear or how to cut her hair. She's got good friends, and has somehow made it most of the way through middle school without any of the drama or soul-shattering social games that were supposed to define this part of her life.

She's beautiful. She's amazing. She's thirteen. I want to remember her like this, forever.

*trigger warning: 2004 curebie & dismissive language re: autism.