Alas, Maybe Teenagers Speak Another Language

Published October 29, 1987. I’ll be the first to admit it, I don’t understand teenagers. I don’t understand how they think. I don’t understand how they act. And I don’t understand what they say. It is as if they speak a different language. And with our three teenagers – Tammy, Brian, and Jon – Susan and I sometimes think we need a host of United Nations translators in order to communicate with our older children.

Take, for instance, the periodic parent-teacher meetings at the local schools. We try to find out from the kids how they are doing before we go. It is like trying to talk with someone from Mars.

Parent-teacher conferences all tend to come during the same week, so there are some interesting words and expressions being tossed around in our home during those few days. We were preparing to go down to the junior high and talk with some of Jon’s teachers. We were concerned how he was doing in one particular class, so we asked him about it. Are you ready for the reply?

Jon paused and then replied, “I’m pretty sure I got a solid C+.” He assured me it was locked in. Tucked away. There was no way he could get lower than a C+ at this point in the class.

I told Jon when I went to high school there was no such thing as a “solid C+.” I asked him if he could try for something like a “weak B.” He said that was a little beyond him at this point. But he would give it some thought.

Then there is Brian. He uses some strange phrases. I asked him about his homework in one of his difficult classes. He assured me, and I quote, that it was “caught up.” We congratulated him for his efforts, but upon checking with his teacher later that week at the conference, we were somewhat alarmed to find he was “missing two assignments” in the class in which he said he was “caught up.”

We confronted Brian with the discrepancy. His teacher said that two assignments were missing. He didn’t skip a beat in his reply. He said the reports were in but were not finished. I tried with no avail to argue that if the reports were “not finished” then he really wasn’t “caught up.” He disagreed.

Our teenage son said he didn’t understand the two assignments, so he did part of the work and turned them in. I still maintained they were technically missing. He seemed unimpressed and then asked to borrow a dollar for a Big Gulp down the street at Circle K. You see what I mean?

And Tammy. She uses some interesting, but confusing words. The other day she and her friends were driving around in one of the family cars. The car was getting low on gas, so Tammy took some of her money and put some gas in the car, so they could get home.

Upon her return, she described the running-low-on-gas incident and how she had to spend some of her own money to put gas in the family car.

Now get this. Tammy asked me if she could be “reimbursed.” Somehow it just seems out of place for a teenager to ask a parent to be “reimbursed.” Reimbursement suggests that one “owes” the other something. Tammy believed I did. Maybe I could have handled it better if she had asked to be “paid back.” But “reimbursed?”

Tammy also informed me that while they were driving around there was “a little light blinking on the dashboard.” I asked her which light it was. She said she couldn’t remember. But she thought it said something like “oil.”

That . . . I understood.

Building Things of Lasting Value

Published May 19, 1983. Susan has often said that when it comes to doing romantic things, I am long on promise and short on delivery. Like many other husbands, my intentions are good, but I don’t always follow through.

So last week I followed through. I called the bishop, fire department, poison control center, emergency ward at the hospital, and local police and told them my wife and I were going to be away for a day or two. I also asked if they would keep an eye on our children.

Robert Goulet has always been one of our favorite singers, so when I found he was coming to Salt Lake to sing in Symphony Hall, I got tickets and made reservations at the Marriott Hotel across the street from Symphony Hall.

We only had minimal problems in getting away. There were slight innuendos of child abuse from our six kids. Tammy, age 14, agreed to watch the other children. Brian and Jon, 12 and 10 respectively, stated they would protest by riding their bikes up the canyon and spend the day shooting their BB guns. Jason, 6, and Kris, 3, agreed we could go if we would leave an ample supply of peanut butter and honey to assure them they would not starve during our two-day absence.

Our only major concern was our 16-year-old son. Doug, who that very day had received his driver’s license. After a few white-knuckled rides during the two previous weeks, he had proven to me he could, indeed drive. And during our absence he wanted to drive the rest of the children downtown for ice cream cones. Questioning his sudden altruism, we finally agreed, said prayers both vocal and silent, and left.

We arrived at the Marriott in time to change clothes and walk over to the beautiful Symphony Hall. Not only did we like Robert Goulet, but the two numbers performed by the Utah Symphony Orchestra at the beginning were also enjoyable.

Getting away as husband and wife is something we wait too long to do, and then we don’t do it often enough. Perhaps other husbands are like myself—long on promise but short on delivery.

Our room at the Marriott was on the 14^th floor facing north. What a spectacular view that was of downtown Salt Lake late at night. And most impressive to me was the view of the beautiful LDS Temple on Temple Square.

As I looked at the Temple late at night, I wondered why its construction took 40 years to complete. Given the fact that we now have more modern construction techniques, I also realized a few other things.

One was the relative destitute condition of the few thousand Mormon pioneers who started the edifice in 1853. Second was the fact that at least twice, the Mormon pioneers had to start over on the construction project. This occurred once during the Utah War of 1857 when Johnston’s Army threatened to enter the Salt Lake Valley. Brigham Young ordered the workmen to cover the foundation and encouraged the saints in Salt Lake to vacate the valley and move south.

After the Utah War Crisis was over, the soil was removed from the foundation, and construction on the temple was started once again.

Not long afterward, Brigham Young determined the foundation was insufficient and again ordered the workmen to reset the foundation. He announced the Temple must stand for a thousand years, even through the Millennium. So once again, they started over.

Finally, I realized that things of lasting value usually take a long time to build. And the same is as true of marriages as it is of temples. If they are to endure, they must be built on a solid foundation.  The construction of both will take skill, time, effort, knowledge, and patience.

It may be that after a few years of marriage, we may face difficult times and be tempted to give up. But like the Mormon pioneers and the Salt Lake Temple, we may have to start over, working together on the marriage.

Things of lasting value usually take a long time to build.

Children Are Wonderful…Sometimes

Published June 2, 1983. Ten-year-olds ask questions they shouldn’t. A few days ago, I sat down to write my column, and along came my son Jon. He asked what I was doing, so I told him.

“Who reads your column?” he asked.

“Many people do.” I replied as I kept on typing.

“How many?” he bluntly interrupted.

“Well, Grandmother Day in American Fork reads it. And your Aunt Jane and Aunt Karen in Salt Lake have indicated they read it once in a while.” By now I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

“Are they the only ones?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, “there are many others.”

“How do you know?” he asked semi-innocently.

“People write to me,” I answered, “and make comments and ask questions.”

I knew the next question. “How many write to you?” he inquired.

By now a little ruffled, I retorted, “Last week I received about 20 letters from one column.”

“You only have 20 readers?” he sneered as only 10-year-olds can.

“Maybe there were 25.” I answered. “I can’t remember. Jon, please, I have to get this article off today. Would you please stop asking me questions?”

“Just one more,” he said. “Why don’t I ever see your articles in the Deseret News?”

“They are there, every Thursday in the Today section,” I replied trying to be polite.

“Do men read your column?” Jon went on surpassing his one more question.

“Yes,” I said, “they do.”

“Why don’t you tell the Deseret News to print your column in the sports Section?” he suggested.

“A column on marriage in the Sports Section?” I slowly repeated.

“Yes,” he said, “or maybe even in the Comic Section. That way you would have lots of men and maybe even some kids, like me read your articles.”

Jon picked up his ball and bat and started for the door. “I think the neighbors down the street read your column.

“That’s nice to know, Jon,” I said. “You were making me wonder if anyone reads it at all.”

“I was in their house the other day and saw it in their front room,” he informed me as he took a few practice swings with the bat.

“Good.” I replied.

Jon opened the door and then turned toward me. “It was on the bottom of their bird cage.” He said and grinned as he went out the door.

Jon’s questions were a little humiliating, but he did have a point. Perhaps it would be helpful if I got to know my readers a little bit better. So please do me a favor.

Drop me a note in the mail and help me get to know you as a reader. Tell me where you live, your age (you may lie a little), if you are married or single, and if married, for how long? If you are the wife, please tell me if your husband reads this column. If you would like, you might also include a few suggestions for future column topics

And to the reader who sends a letter with a postmark from  the greatest distance away I will send a prize—my 10-year-old son, Jon.