I was raised by teen parents

“Wow, your mom is so young!” A common refrain of my youth as the child of a teenage mother. We have all heard the statistics on teenage parents. If you Google teen pregnancy you will find multiple websites eagerly presenting the dark side of what happens when you become a parent in high school.

For years, I’ve artfully avoided this topic and dodged questions. I’ve heard assumptions and I’ve been asked invasive questions. Strangers have shared their opinions and stories have been collected in my mind.

Adults asked me invasive questions

My young and pretty mom was always a volunteer for school and sports, making her visible to the other parents. Naturally, this attracted attention.

The other moms boldly asked me what my mother’s age was. I learned early on that this information was always filtered down to the children. I learned to shrug and not engage when the other kids told me my mom was young.

I started Catholic School the year I entered sixth grade. My mother became a volunteer in my private school. I felt like a splash of green in a sea of white.

One day, I was chatting with a volunteering mother when out of the blue, she asked me what year my mother graduated high school. I dutifully supplied the year and watched in horror as I realized she was counting. I had foolishly handed her a golden nugget of information. More than two decades later, I still remember the betrayal I was bombarded with as her face flared with triumph.

The next day at school, a group of excited girls waited for me to arrive. They had a yearbook in their hands. I smiled politely as they explained someone’s mom had provided the yearbook and told me how lucky I was to have such a young mother compared to their ancient mothers. At that moment, I felt like a bird in a sea of fish.

Resentment

When I began researching what happens to the children of teen parents, I found stories around the theme of resentment.

As a child, I didn’t know what resentment was. I only know that I felt an undercurrent between me and my father. Simmering below the surface, an emotion I struggled to identify. As an adult, I now understand, I was feeling resentment.

The turning point came during an argument after my parent’s divorce when I was a teen. In his anger, he declared that his choice would have been abortion. Later on, when I confronted him, he told me that my grandparents had offered to raise me. I’ve since learned that both sets of my grandparents had put that offer on the table for my parents. As a teen girl, I took from that the message that I was not wanted or loved. After all, if your father doesn’t love you, how can you expect someone else to love you?

Let’s be normal

When I was reading other shared experiences from other children of young parents, I found that many felt their parents went overboard in their quest to be normal. I found this relatable. We lived in a cookie-cutter house in a nice neighborhood filled with other families. I did sports and activities. I had a younger brother. We attended church every Sunday. My father worked a normal job and my mother stayed at home to care for us and to volunteer at the school. I had birthday parties and we went on family vacations. Our home was neat and clean.

Teenage me

My mom was strict. She restricted media content and limited the hours I spent on the phone. In my friend group, I had the earliest curfew. Ironically, I have memories of people being shocked my mom was strict. When I would ask why I was told that young parents are cool parents. I found myself frustrated with the restrictions and annoyed when friends didn’t believe me.

The CDC says the children of teenage mothers are more likely to drop out of high school, be incarcerated at some time during adolescence, and give birth as a teenager. I graduated high school with no children. I have never been arrested nor did I have trouble with the law.

As a teenager, I found it surreal to meet other teenage moms. I realized that without the loving support of my grandparents, my life could have been spectacularly different. Both my grandmothers had taken turns babysitting me so my mom could finish college. My grandfathers each put their share into the bucket of fatherhood for me.

Conclusion

My research into what happens to the children of teen parents is a reminder that we all have our stories. We all have our childhoods. We all have memories that play on repeat and memories that now serve as our nightmares. Maybe, I’ll be an old lady in a nursing home one day, telling youngsters how young everyone thought my mom was.