Looking down at his phone, he started complaining about what did he care about hair, blah, blah…then when he glanced up, his eyes widened and he said “Wow, look at my hair!” with an enthusiasm usually reserved for In ‘n’ Out burgers and NFL playoffs. It’s true, the left side of his hair was voluminous, shiny and clean-looking, in contrast to the flat, dull right side of his head. “Wait how did you do this?” he asked, then I showed him how to lightly apply the powder, while explaining how it’s still important to wash one’s hair regularly, but when he was late for school or work, he could apply this and look presentable. I may have also thrown in a plus for how dry shampoo is great to add volume even on clean hair.
And here’s the funny thing…as my son spritzed the powder and otherwise primped in front of the mirror, he started asking me if I’d heard about something crazy he’d seen on a news feed, and what I thought about it. (He’s passionately politically opinionated, and always wanting to gauge my reaction to a world event—when he can get my attention away from work and household chores.) By the time we finished our mini-hangout, we’d covered the war in the Middle East and domestic policy, then segued into talking about plans for a family trip and his car’s brake light. In 15 minutes, his hair looked like a lion’s mane and we had shared a few laughs and felt more connected.
In the book The Grown-Ups Guide to Teenage Humans, author Josh Shipp writes that when kids are toddler- and elementary-school aged, parents need to think of their roles as air-traffic controllers, guiding and monitoring their children’s every move to ensure safety. By the time they are teens, Shipp suggests we think of our roles more as coaches, offering them skills and practice navigating the difficulties of life. Which, in my experience sounds good, but my hard-headed and defensive son doesn’t always want to listen to my suggestions. I get it—at his age, I thought I knew better than my parents, too. Or at least I didn’t want to listen to them drone on about some life lesson. But I can use my area of expertise (God help me, it’s about stuff like micellar water) as a way in to one of the life skills areas where he’s willing to listen (teens today are inundated with looksmaxxing pressures).
I think this applies to whatever skill a parent has, as long as it dovetails with something a teen needs. (Car maintenance? Budgeting? Healthful eating shortcuts?) As for my teen, I asked him if he’d been using his dry shampoo on his own, and he said he had, along with more frequent washing. And I’ll confess, now that I’ve got my “in,” I’m wondering what he’ll want to engage with next. Skin care? Deodorants? Tooth whitening? I guess for my son and me, the world’s our Sephora.
