Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [99]
Wendy protested weakly and Tracy said, “Bug off. Why can’t you be like normal parents and let me do what I want?”
I handed Tracy money to go next door and buy lemonades. After she left, the room seemed calmer and quieter. Wendy told me that she and her husband both came from homes with alcoholics. They were determined to have a different kind of family than the ones they remembered. They attended a fundamentalist church and said daily prayers and grace at every meal. They searched the children’s rooms once a month and monitored their phone calls and mail. Bedtimes were at nine and rigidly enforced. They allowed Tracy to listen to only Christian rock and roll. Television was carefully supervised.
Wendy and Ned had studied many books on Christian parenting. They believed in “spare the rod and spoil the child.” But they had stopped spanking Tracy when she was ten and, since then, they hadn’t known how to control her. “Ned thinks we should still spank her,” she confided. “But I think she’s too old for that.”
I agreed wholeheartedly.
Wendy said, “All I learned about parenting from my own mother was what not to do.” She talked some about her life as a child. Her own mother was unmarried and alcoholic. Wendy remembered being hungry as a child and picking her clothes from church charity baskets. The other kids in town were not allowed to play at her family’s trailer. Wendy and her sisters grew like weeds, unsupervised and out of control. “Most of the time Mom couldn’t have cared less what I was doing, but when she did notice, I was in deep trouble,” Wendy continued. “She called me every name in the book. Once she hit me with a two-by-four. Another time she scalded my head when she washed my hair.”
She paused. “With the help of God, I’ve forgiven her, but I’ve promised myself I’ll never be like her.” I congratulated her on giving her daughter many things she hadn’t had—sober parents, love and consistent messages about her behavior.
Wendy asked, “So why does Tracy resent me? I only want what’s best for her.”
“What are you most worried about?”
“I’m afraid she’ll be an alcoholic.”
Because of the family histories of alcoholism, Tracy was at risk. But I thought that right now the drinking was only part of a larger issue, which was how this family could protect their daughter and allow her to grow. Tracy was furious at the intrusion and controls. Wendy and Ned showed their love by discipline and surveillance, ways unlikely to win the affection of any teenager. Their parenting policies weren’t flexible and made few allowances for growth and autonomy. Clearly Tracy was testing the limits of the system.
Tracy walked in with our lemonades and I asked Wendy to leave us alone.
Tracy tried hard to act sullen and hard-core, but she was young and not very good at it yet. Within about two minutes I had her smiling. But when I asked her what she wanted to talk about, she turned gloomy. “I hate my mother. She’s always in my face. She wants to control my life. She listens in on my calls and reads my diary.”
I asked about her dad. She told me that he preferred her brother, whom he took fishing and hunting. However, she didn’t mind their outings because when her father was around, he was mad at her. She said, “Both of them drive me crazy. They are the nosiest parents in the world. Can’t you just tell them to get off my case?”
I empathized with her need for more privacy and independence and promised that in family therapy we would talk about her rights as a teenager. But I also felt it was important that Tracy hear that I respected her mother. I said, “It sounds like your mom has tried to give you many things she didn’t have as a girl.”
“I’m sick of hearing Mom’s sob stories. Grandma isn’t that bad.” She sighed. “I’d rather live with her than my parents. At least she doesn’t watch me like a hawk and read my mail.”
We talked about alcohol and drugs. Tracy drank only with her friends, usually on weekends. She liked the kids who drank—they were wild and fun, not “uptight goody-goodies