Party Time

Recently, I went to the Bar Mitzvah of a dear friend's son. It was actually the second party I've been to since making aliyah almost four years ago. I'm what they call a social butterfly.

The icing on the decadent chocolate souffle they served was that I went alone, sans husband and five monkeys. It was awesome. After stuffing my face with gourmet food and remembering that there is such a thing as gourmet food, I watched the teenage girls party with Prince like it was 1999. As I watched in awe at how much energy they had, I wondered how many of these girls were actually alive in 1999.

“Hey, I can dance like there are imaginary springs in my shoes!” I thought to myself. The next thing I knew, I was bouncing around like a cheerleader, except that I'm not a cheerleader. I gave it my best shot as I tried to keep up with the teenyboppers and all their fancy moves.

After five minutes, I was so out of breath that I had shooting pains in my chest. I desperately gulped down two glasses of water and waited for the side cramps to pass. Eventually, Racheli got her groove back and was gettin' daaoooowwwnnnn…..

As I danced the night away for the next two hours, I couldn't comprehend that there was that much of an age difference between me and the rest of the girls. I felt like I should have been hanging out with them, discussing deep life concepts such as if this shade of eyeshadow brings out my eye color, or if this skirt really makes me look fat. Maybe the Coke was messing with my mind.

I partied with those girls and my friend until my watch flashed “eleven, zero, zero, party over, oops. Out of time.” I reluctantly bade my friend farewell and made her promise to throw a Bar Mitzvah every year. As she patted me on the back and smiled at me with a mixture of wonderment and pity, I thanked her again and drove home to my castle, where Prince Charming was impatiently waiting for me to relieve him from his babysitting duties.

The next morning, I realized that I'm not 19 anymore. Muscles that I didn't realize existed were sore. My feet were killing me. The fantasy bubble burst the next morning, just like Cinderella's  pumpkin coach.

I also realized that I wouldn't be a teenager again if someone offered me a million dollars. So much unnecessary social drama. So much unnecessary homework. So many unnecessary pimples. Okay, maybe for two million I'd think about it.

Anyhow, my broken cell phone with a cracked screen that's held together with tape isn't ringing off the hook with offers. On a completely unrelated note, I have to say that using my cell is extremely frustrating because since I can't read the screen well, I'm constantly calling the wrong people. Today I called my kid's bus driver instead of my husband. I started complaining to him about my aching feet, and halfway through the conversation I realized that I was telling the bus driver too many personal details. Yeah, that wasn't awkward.

It got me thinking about teenagerhood, and what a difficult time of life it is. There are many aspects that make it so challenging, such as the perpetual pseudo-depression that makes many teenagers walk funny.

Ultimately, I think the number one curse of being a teenager is the feeling that “My parents don't understand me.” It's such an egotistical point of view, if you think about it. A kid thinks that his parents didn't live through their teens; and even if they did, they certainly didn't have the same types of complicated challenges that the kid has today!

Did I sum it up just right?

No matter how many times we tell them, “I'm your parent, and I know much more than you do,” that line simply doesn't register in their self-obsessed brains. They think they know it all, and the childhood that we had was as ancient as the exodus from Egypt.

And when we discipline them or punish them, forget about it. They think we're being unfair. They think we have no idea what we're doing. Most of them don't think that we are actually doing what's best for them, whether to teach them that they can't get away with certain things, or to try and deter them from doing things that are harmful for them.

Is this starting to sound familiar?

Do we not behave just like our children?

When Hashem gives us a challenge, do we think He's doing it with a purpose, or do we think it's random life circumstances?

When He makes us go through something painful, do we think that He knows what he's doing, or that He just wants us to suffer?

Do we think that He's doing what's best for us?

Do we try to learn the life lessons that Hashem is trying to teach us?

Do we stop our dangerous behavior?

Or, do we behave like adult teenagers, and lament that Hashem just doesn't understand us?

We need emuna so we can finally grow up. What freedom it would be to be able to accept everything with the understanding that Hashem's wisdom is beyond ours! Wouldn't we be so much more balanced and happy?

Before we know it, the Moshiach will be here, and our iPhones will flash, “Party over, oops. Out of time.” Let's work on living what we preach, and may we all internalize that our Father loves us and only wants what's best for us!