Tell Your Teen: This Too Shall Pass

On the last day of vacation, we stayed with my sister and her family in Washington state. We'd had a splendid time with family and friends, showing our kids the beauty of Vancouver Island, reintroducing my family to my kids -- and showing off the new baby, Patrick.

Invited by their cousin, the strong silent type, for a ride on a go-cart, Ryan took the challenge. He'd never ridden a go-cart. Didn't know how to start or stop it. But after a vague permission from me as I yakked with my sister, he got on, fired her up, and pretty much took off screaming. Everything he did seemed to make it go faster, and in a matter of moments he had careened into the neighbor's garage at full tilt. He knocked over their motorbike, and sent a stationary loaded boat trailer skidding 4 feet.

But not before the go-cart -- and his femur -- buckled.

As we rode in the ambulance to the hospital in Port Angeles, he moaned, "Why did this have to happen to me?" Tactfully, I refrained from mentioning his decision to get behind the wheel of a vehicle he knew not how to steer or even stop.

By the time he got out of the hospital, he looked like a human Y. He was bound in a horrendous fluourescent green, orange and white striped body cast -- the surgeon joked that it was a tribute to Mexico, since Ryan lived on the border. His broken elbow was healing -- as was the scrape on his cheek that revealed the truth: he might have been totally toast if he hadn't at least had the forethought to wear a helmet.

I made do as best I could. I bought a used gurney from an ambulance service for $50. On that gurney, we went to a tractor pull, a county fair, movies, the library, fishing, a Randy Travis concert.

And we had to get home somehow, which ended up being a handicapped berth on Amtrak, Seattle to Chicago to San Antone. We were late getting into Chicago after the train hit a cow in Montana, which slowed us down. Didn't do much for the cow, either. Ryan's Grandma U.C. and cousin Jen came aboard in Minneapolis and rode with us to Chicago.

It is a beautiful train trip -- but hot tip? don't do it on a gurney, you won't see a thing.

The upshot? Six home-bound months of total dependence. And a heckuva time just getting a South Texas doc to cut a growing boy out of his cast -- all were too worried about lawsuits. After learning to walk again, he walked funny for a year or so, much to his chagrin.

When Ryan asked me, in the ambulance, why this had to happen to him, I told him all I knew: everyone had one worst day, and maybe he was getting his over with now. Like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.

I will tell you this much: for all that kid went through growing up, to see his success and happiness today, I can truly say it couldn't happen to a nicer kid.

Some 15 years later, he's in the catbird seat. Cushy job, masters degree from an Ivy League school, cool car, wonderful fiancee.

More important, I know the empathy and the character his trials gave him -- how he is a great alpha dog in the family pack, a wonderful big brother, and how he will be a better husband and father for all he has been through.

What Ryan couldn't imagine in adolescence -- recovering from pain and disaster -- because of his limited experience, I had to envision for him.

And when anyone asks what one message today's youth need to hear, tell them: everyone has one worst day, or worst year, and maybe you're getting yours over with now.

Disappointed in love? Boyfriends/girlfriends are like buses, another one will be along soon.

and like Annie sang: The sun will come out tomorrow, so you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may. This too shall pass.