Hormonal teenagers

I am not a victim, I am a survivor, so is my son Max. Even though he has Down’s syndrome. You’d think that would slow him down, somehow sour his life - not a bit of it. His vibrant character has carried him through some challenging stages of his life. Passing through adolescence is one of them.

Being sixteen is a tricky age for any young man although Max welcomes many of the experiences, like growing facial hair “Like my Dad,” which he painstakingly shaves off with his mini electric razor, or the allure of women, particularly blondes. As one of five grandsons, I remember my mother remarking on several occasions that she would doubt Max to be the last of her grandsons to be granted his first kiss. She was right, he’s well on his way to developing an expertise in snogging. He’s also had a fair number of girlfriends, racking up quite a respectable portfolio of beauties. Some he’s been keener on than others, remarking to me,
“Mum, I like Polly, but I’m waiting to find the right girlfriend.”

Rather taken aback, I enquired what he felt the “right” girlfriend to be. His reply was as always, direct and truthful.
“She’s got to have long blonde hair like you mum and she must be funny, love wrestling, music, going to the theatre and be able to sing.” No pressure!
Until Max’s dream woman arrives I have no worries, he’s cut from the same cloth as those who believe “if you’re not with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.” Any passing young lady who may wish to brush up on her kissing technique need look no further than Max; he will be a most willing and enthusiastic partner.

But some of Max’s hormonal changes are not particularly welcomed by any of us. Apart from farting in public, purely for his own amusement, he’s taken to being grumpy and massively uncooperative for no good reason – that we, at least, can fathom. Within the four walls of our home, whilst troublesome, such moods can be contained, and are best ignored if I’m honest, but in the outside world, some colourful issues can arise. Also the world outside sometimes comes to visit us and even the protective walls of our home are no help.

Max’s longsuffering brother Charlie can get it in the neck too. He's fourteen now, but carries the weight of the world on far senior shoulders. He’s a terrific brother, but even Charlie cannot resist giving in to the temptation for point scoring and one-up-man-ship, so commonly seen in siblings.

When Max is strutting about the house, ipod clamped to his ears, dancing and singing at the top of his lungs, completely naked, Charlie can be forgiven for muttering under his breath,
“For God’s sake put some clothes on!”
Or Charlie’s parental instincts may kick in, as Max seizes an opportunity to swipe an unauthorized biscuit, knowing he will not be discovered, by remarking,
“You shouldn’t be doing that.”
Perfectly excusable, but such comments push all of Max’s buttons and drive him to forbidden expletives, and the odd, uncharacteristic wallop.

For many years now, we’ve discovered the best way to get any kind of hold on what Max is truly feeling, is to listen to him while he’s on the toilet. Thinking he’s alone and enjoying the privacy, he often chats away to himself. Wrong perhaps to intrude, but valuable information can often be gleaned from what falls from his lips. Just like on Sunday evening,
“I’m fed up with this family. I’m going to get a new family. I’m cross with Dad, he’s always telling me off and it’s that Charlie’s fault. He gets me into trouble. He winds me up! Mum’s horrible too.”
Such truths can often be the valuable bridge we need to pass over turbulent times. I’m clinging to the knowledge that it’s most probably his hormones and that my gorgeous, but sometimes obnoxious teenager will blossom into the handsome, considerate swan I know he is. But if I foolishly relax, naively assuming calmer waters have arrived, I must remind myself, that Max is not unique in his hormonal outbursts and I would do well to steel myself, because he has a younger brother.