Critical Lawnmower or Critical Teen Parent?

When I started out on this blog, I had it in mind to keep sort of to a gardening/environment theme, but have, of course, ended up all over the place. That's okay, but lately it seems this website is serving as a warning to Christian parents of teenagers, or at the very least a comfort to others like us who know families are far from perfect, no matter what ideals you may have had in your head before you began your childrearing adventures.

This weekend my 14-year old daughter made her debut in a worship team at our relatively conservative Christian church. We have three services, one on Saturday late afternoon and two on Sunday morning. I went last night with a couple of our kids, and my husband went this morning with our oldest son. Our daughter played the violin, and very nicely. I am already prone to seeing the dark side of things, but it did make me sad to see my child standing there with her violin and dyed black hair hanging across her face, dressed in distressed black Converse high tops with multi-colored neon laces, pink fishnet tights, olive drab pants that had been cut off just above the knee and rolled once or twice into long shorts, two layers of camisole tops in black and pink and a red, white and black plaid flannel shirt left open to top it off - and this contrasted with all the beautiful, nicely dressed, washed and combed young adults (some of whom were even smiling and looking glad to be there) who stood on the choir risers and faced the congregation.

Yes, I'm getting over her outward appearances of late, though I somehow feel robbed of the opportunity I never had to braid her hair, share her interests in fashion or even have any say at all in what the kid now chooses to wear as my representative kin. She's only 14, folks. Forget all that stuff about, ". . . as long as you're living under my roof . . ." It simply doesn't work. The hair was dyed anyway, about 10 extra holes just showed up in her ears one day, and those gothic pants with the chains all over them, forbidden though they were, are purchased with her own money.

So, as icing on the most recent teenaged out-of-control cake, my husband sweated through today's services knowing that the newest colorful outfit our daughter was wearing up in front of the congregation included the words "I'M F*CKED UP AND SO ARE YOU" in one-inch high letters she had hand stitched in cream colored yarn around her black pants waistband. The preacher preached, the high school choir sang and my husband sat there and prayed her tight little shirt would stay down low enough to hide this obvious plea for the entire church to gather around our child and lay hands on her.

Come to think of it, that might have been a good idea.