Ah, teenagers. The fascinating species that walks among us, simultaneously believing they are invincible and victims of the cruelest injustices. Case in point: my son. The other morning, he requested a ride to the bus stop because, and I quote, “It’s freezing outside.” Logical, right? I mean, who wouldn’t want to avoid hypothermia?
Except there was one glaring issue: he refused to wear a proper coat, hat, or gloves.
Let me paint the scene: It’s January. In Wisconsin, a.k.a The Frozen Tundra. The kind of cold that freezes your nostrils shut and makes your car sound like it’s crying when you start it. I looked at him, standing there in a lightweight hoodie (unzipped, naturally), sweatpants, and sneakers. No gloves. No hat. And the pièce de résistance? His insistence that “a coat is too bulky.”
So, here I am, torn between sympathy for his chattering teeth and sheer disbelief. My motherly instincts kicked in, but not in the way you’d expect. “Why,” I asked, “would I drive you when you won’t even make the basic effort to protect yourself from the elements?”
Cue the sigh. The teenager sigh. You know the one—the dramatic exhale that suggests I have personally ruined his life.
Now, I’ve been around teenagers long enough to understand their logic—or lack thereof. Somehow, dressing appropriately for the weather is an affront to their entire identity. Hats? Uncool (and would mess up his perfectly styled hair). Gloves? A social death sentence. And a proper coat? Apparently, that’s only for grandpas and people without Wi-Fi.
But here’s the kicker: he didn’t argue that he wasn’t cold. Oh no, he fully admitted that the Arctic blast outside was a problem. He just didn’t want to wear the solution. And this, my friends, is where my grasp of teenage logic fails.
If you’re cold, dress warmly. This is not rocket science. In fact, this is the sort of wisdom I thought I had passed down to my offspring along with basic survival skills, like brushing teeth and not licking frozen flagpoles. But alas, he is a teenager, and they operate on a different plane of reasoning—one that adults are not invited to understand.
So, I gave him my final word: “No coat, no ride. Your choice.” And off he went, shivering all the way to the bus stop like a martyr in a Netflix drama, no doubt imagining how he would recount this tale of hardship to his friends.
Parenting a teenager is a lot like negotiating with a toddler, except the toddler thinks they’re smarter than you. The good news? This phase will pass. The bad news? It might take a while—and several frostbitten walks to the bus stop.
In the meantime, I’m just going to keep shaking my head, sipping my tea, and reminding myself that one day, he’ll have kids of his own. And when they refuse to wear a coat in the middle of winter, I hope he hears my voice in the back of his head saying, “Told you so.”
Hey Dana Jane 