Challenge Level

Have you played a video game where, once you beat the game, you get the chance to go back and play it again, but on a extra-hard difficulty level? That’s what it felt like parenting most of the past year. By the end of Hannah’s time in elementary school, I thought, you know, I’ve got this parenting thing down. Then she started sixth grade last fall.

What I noticed first was that each school day presented her with new challenges. In fifth grade, maybe once a month she would find herself needing to making a tough academic decision or navigate some social situation. In middle school, those kinds of things happened daily. One reason was that she started at a new school, so finding her niche and making friends took a lot of work. It was a couple of months before she seemed somewhat settled, and she didn’t seem really comfortable until spring semester, by which point she had formed a tight circle of good friends.

Sidebar: Hannah is now old enough that there’s a chance she, or her friends, might read this blog, so I’m editing myself a little more than I’ve done in the past. If my posts start to be a little vaguer these days, that’s why. For instance, I’d like to talk a bit about why her friends are so good for her, but I don’t want to embarrass her. I’ll just note that she’s done a good job picking friends!

One lesson I’ve learned this year is that my job, as Hannah’s dad, is to convince her on a daily basis that she’s loved and that she’s awesome. As a former middle school math nerd, I don’t always have practical advice for a twelve-year-old girl navigating sixth grade social dynamics, but I can let her know in a variety of ways that she’s got what it takes to do so, and that she’s loved and valued no matter what happens at school. (When it comes to helping her with her math homework, I have mad skills, but, frankly, academics don’t seem to be the hardest part of sixth grade for her.)

Encouraging words, hugs, lunchbox notes (even though she doesn’t take a lunchbox anymore), these are the kinds of things she needs from me every day. The drive to school seems to be especially important. No matter how late we are and how frustrated that makes me, I try to build her up during those seven minutes. (I love living close to my kids’ schools!) And when I pick her up, I ask her to tell me about her day. Pro tip: Don’t ask, “How was your day?” because “fine” isn’t an enlightening answer. Ask, “Tell me about your day.” You’ll get slightly more detail. Slightly.

Every night features at least one hug and at least one “I love you.” I’ve found that Hannah doesn’t need a lot of affection from me, not like the eight-year-old, who always appreciates a hug, but Hannah needs it consistently. As a single dad, I don’t see my girls every day. I do my best to talk to them on the phone daily, and sometimes we FaceTime, now that Hannah has an iPad for school. The hugs don’t travel well over the Internet, but the “I love you”s do. Not seeing my girls every day is hard, but technology certainly helps.

That leads me to another lesson learned this year: Twelve-year-old girls and group text messaging don’t mix well. When I was in sixth grade, if I wanted to talk to a friend, I could call one of them at a time on the phone, or I could hop on my bike and head up the road to their house. Today’s sixth graders have text messaging. Just imagine for a minute, given what you know about twelve-year-old girls, what group text messaging might be like for a sixth grader. Scary, isn’t it?

Hannah had two main text messaging groups earlier in the year, one for friends at her new school and one for friends from Girl Scouts (mostly friends from her old school). Each group had at least a dozen members, and almost every single time I looked at Hannah’s iPad, there were notifications of new messages. It was a constant stream of funny comments, schedule coordination, and girl drama. Well, the girl drama wasn’t constant, but when it hit, it hit hard. Hundreds of messages flying back and forth.

I don’t think this kind of thing is unique to Hannah’s groups of friends, but it was certainly challenging for Hannah to deal with. Her social scene was taxing enough during the school day, face-to-face. She didn’t need more of it at home. That’s where she recharged. At one point during spring break, I asked her if she wanted to hang out with one of her school friends. She declined, saying all she wanted during spring break was time to herself. Even she recognized her need alone time.

Between the constant dinging of new messages, the occasional flare-up of girl drama, and one one poor choice Hannah made that I won’t describe here, her mom and I decided to pull the plug. We deleted the text messaging app on her iPad. I didn’t think Apple let you do that, but it’s possible. Hannah needed a break, and that seemed the best way to give it to her. And it worked. She was more relaxed and less distracted while she was at home.

Hannah can still text one friend at a time on her phone, so she’s not completely disconnected, but without the steady stream of group text message notifications, her iPad is safe to keep around the house. She’s missed out on at least one event for which invites only went out via group text, but when I asked her at the end of the school year if she wanted to reinstall her messaging app, she said no. She liked having a little more peace and quiet in her life.

And I can understand. About a week ago, I wanted to take a photo of a particularly spectacular sunset. My camera storage was full, so I needed to delete something quickly. I chose Facebook. I haven’t reinstalled it since, and I find using my phone much more relaxing now. I still check Facebook on my computer, but not being able to engage from my phone in whatever political debate is flaring up on Facebook has definitely decreased my stress level.

One more lesson learned from middle school: It’s a great time to help your kid discover her interests. I’m fortunate enough to be able to send Hannah to school where she has a ton of options for after school activities. She played volleyball in the fall, dabbled in after school art classes and quiz bowl, then hit the jackpot with the middle school play this spring. The play was a version of Hercules, and Hannah played Hydra Head #9. Not a starring role (it was just her first time in a school play), but she knocked it out of the park.

Hannah loved the whole process–learning lines, rehearsing, costumes, back-stage fun with her friends. Play practice was Monday through Thursday after school, and it was Hannah’s favorite part of the day. You know that tight circle of good friends I mentioned earlier? I think it helped that most of them were in the play, too. She’s planning to take a full year of drama next year (during the school day), and I think she’ll love it. And, if not, she can always change her mind for the spring semester and try something else!

I had a line in a middle school play once. It was Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol, I think. I had a fancy Victorian costume with a top hat. I had just the one line, but I remember my middle school play as the most stressful part of seventh grade. I was much more comfortable kicking tail on the academic team. Hannah had just the opposite experience this past year, and that’s okay. She’s not me. She’s got her own interests and talents, and I’m happy to do what I can to foster and encourage them.

I’ve tried to take this approach to parenting for years, letting Hannah and Lily pursue whatever fascinates them, regardless of my own interests or cultural gender stereotypes. It was satisfying to see that approach start to pay off this year, as Hannah owned her own interests with confidence, even pushing back against her parents occasionally to shape her own school experience. I am so proud of the young woman she’s becoming.

At this point in the summer, I’m feeling pretty good about parenting again. Of course, seventh grade starts in about six weeks. Time for the next difficulty level…