The Future of Responsibility is Now

 

“You’re going to a sleepover?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you too old for sleepovers?”

“Go do your chores,” I said. My son laughed and sat on the bed beside my backpack.

It was Saturday night, St. Patrick’s Day, and I was planning to go out with a couple of friends, have some drinks, have some laughs, and be asleep on their couch by a decent hour. It had been a rough week after another rough week, and there would be more on the horizon. My wife was cool with it.

“Why are you staying the night at your friend’s house?” he asked.

And then we talked, again, as we always do when drinking is involved, about the effects of alcohol on one’s judgement and why it is unsafe to drive in that condition. We talked about safety, responsibility and the sad fact that too many people refuse to accept the obvious, in which case driving home late on a holiday heavily associated with drinking didn’t feel like a good idea for anyone. The couch made a lot of sense.

“That’s smart,” he said, handing me a t-shirt. “You should wear the green one.”

 

“Mommy is fine,” I told them. “There was a shooting at the mall. She is in lockdown.”

They just looked at me, their faces filled with far more understanding than I would ever hope to see. They just looked at me, with tears in their eyes.

Understanding is the new innocence. It had only been a few days since they had both walked out of their respective schools to participate in the purest form of democracy with their fellow students. They understood that, too. They knew all too well what a lockdown could do.

The youngest snuck off to text his mother.

 

Our family talks a lot about the news, politics and the ways of the world. Unfortunately, the topics are often serious and full of stress. Often we are more so.

Popular opinion is that the current generation, with its instant access to headlines and pop culture, is experiencing the world far differently than we ever did, and I agree. However, I also believe that they are better prepared because of it. The way they process information, the small talks and big news, is downright inspiring. Their actions are history in the making.

Time was, I used to gloss over my own childhood, hindsight adding a Disney filter of hope and humor to days of yore when a teenage boy found stress in the trusted staples of girls and homework. When I referred to the proverbial “back in my day” it was usually to point out the hours of daily chores my dad demanded of me, the heat of an Arizona summer or the way I said “Yes, Sir” to anyone stern enough to look my way.

Lately, I find myself unpacking more than that. For instance, when I was a child our house was flooded by a raging river where our street used to be, and we were evacuated by the National Guard, me with a puppy hiding gently in jacket.

There was the Cold War, hostages in Iran, and the bank manager down the street that was killed in a robbery. People died, hearts were broken and by freshman year everyone I knew had been drunk on something.

The difference, for me personally, was that things happened, stressful and scary, and we just lived with it for better or worse. Usually worse. Our talks stayed on the surface, held up by shrugs across the dinner table, maybe a grunt if the game was on. The misconception of time now gone is mistaking our avoidance as something to be proud of, the stoic strength of a competitive silence.

So now we talk. We talk about little things in giant ways and the big things in bite-sized morsels, a handful here, a bit more there. We talk about the hardships we face and those faced by others. We stress empathy over apathy, hugs over handshakes and encourage action where acceptance used to be.

These kids today are up for it.

We talk about politics and protest, consent and underage drinking, the constant weaving of timely topics into daily chitchat and the emoji-laden text messages that sometimes pass for it. And while there is no noticeable shortage of shrugs, there is an ample supply of understanding. We can’t gloss over that. We shouldn’t.

 

My bag was empty in a moment. It had held only pajamas and a toothbrush, a stick of deodorant and a green t-shirt. I put everything back just as I had found it, except the words that would linger over us for hours, well into the evening and long past my never leaving. We talked about everything, and we waited for their mother to come home.

 

This post is in partnership with Responsibility.org as part of their Ask, Listen, Learn campaign. Our collective mission is to eliminate drunk driving and speak to kids about underage drinking; also to promote responsible decision-making regarding the consumption of alcohol. It is a good cause, and my opinions remain my own. Obviously.

If you are looking for tips on talking to your kids (who isn’t?), they have all kinds of interesting and useful information for your conversation needs, for example:

If you would like to learn more (also, ask and listen) about underage drinking please connect with Responsibility.org and Ask, Listen, Learn on social media:

Facebook – @GoFAAR @AskListenLearn

Twitter – @goFAAR @AskListenLearn

Instagram – @go_faar @Ask_Listen_Learn

Whit Honea is the co-founder of Dads 4 Change and the Social Media Director of Dad 2.0 Summit. Deemed “the activist dad” by UpWorthy (and one of the “funniest dads on Twitter” by Mashable), he is a regular contributor to The Washington Post, The Modern Dads Podcast and author of The Parents’ Phrase Book—a practical guide to social and emotional learning. Whit was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and is the 2015 winner of the Iris Award for Best Writing.