Now I Know Why Tigers Eat Their Young: Surviving a New Generation of Teenagers - Softcover

Dr. Peter Marshall is a practicing clinician and university professor. He is an international speaker who has written books on stepfamilies and balancing work and home. He lives in Toronto.

Chapter 1: The Chicken Little Syndrome

After more than 25 years in the business, I have to confess that I've never overcome my secret urge to be famous. I've finally realized that my only chance of standing next to the greats in the Psychology Hall of Fame is to discover something. So, just as Freud gave us the Oedipus complex and Jung introduced us to the collective unconscious, I've uncovered a new disorder -- the Chicken Little Syndrome.

At the core of CLS (which is how it will be referred to after I become famous) is something I've labeled "sociological hypochondriasis." I picked this term because it meets the criteria for scientific respectability -- it's totally incomprehensible and has more than five syllables per word. Like the physical hypochondriac for whom a mere twinge is sufficient cause to summon friends and loved ones to his bedside, the sociological hypochondriac looks at what is happening in society and immediately sees signs of decay and imminent disaster. Those stricken with this disorder have an absolute field day when it comes to teenagers. They look at young people's behavior and are convinced they have found proof positive that the sky is about to fall.

Many of those afflicted with CLS have a severe case of the GOD complex (Good Old Days complex). They're easy to detect because of their addiction to Little House on the Prairie reruns. They've come to believe that there really was a wonderful era when children always referred to adults as "sir" or "ma'am" and when their worst crimes were pilfering cookies, after which they were so guiltridden they confessed and insisted on being taken out to the woodshed for a licking.

My interest in CLS has turned me into a history fan. This amazes me as I'd always thought of my high school history teacher as nothing more than living proof that the capacity to be boring and irrelevant was a marketable skill. As a result of the exhaustive research I've undertaken over the past two days, I've found evidence that the belief that the upcoming generation will propel the rest of us into oblivion existed in antiquity. Over 2,000 years ago Socrates took a few moments out of the daily grind of figuring out the meaning of life to comment on the young people of his day: "Children today are tyrants: they contradict their parents, gobble their food, and terrorize their teachers." In the 18th century it was ministers who took on the task of assassinating the character of the younger generation. There's an account of a minister who warned parents that, "as innocent as children seem to be, they are young vipers. They are infinitely more hateful than vipers and are in a most miserable condition." If that wasn't enough to make the point, he wanted to ensure that children would eventually be given feedback regarding their miserable condition. He emphasized that they are "naturally senseless and stupid" and asked, "Why should we conceal the truth from them?"

One short description of children from that era is a particular favorite of mine. The person who referred to children as "curly, dimpled lunatics" may have been overstating his case, but I suspect he was a parent who was just having a particularly bad day and was viewing a childless marriage as a golden but missed opportunity.

No historical account would be complete without a quote from that noted expert on teenagers -- my mother. It was not long after I had entered my teens when she looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Peter, there are many paths to hell, but why did you have to choose all of them?"

It's Time for an Autobiography

One of the best ways to combat CLS is to remember one's own past. Many parents, however, seem to suffer from retrograde amnesia. This is a fancy term for loss of memory. It's often used to describe what can happen to a person's memory after an accident or trauma. Having a child can, of course, be either or both. Retrograde simply means "before," and amnesia -- I forget what this means. Parents of teenagers are particularly prone to this type of selective loss of memory. If I'm honest, however, I can still recall enough of my childhood to know that I wasn't born a pillar of society and that my behavior often posed a serious threat to my parents' sanity. "Me and the boys" found ways of entertaining ourselves that tested the limits of the criminal code. (I'd like to think that "me and the girls" carried on in much the same way, but I was singularly unsuccessful in this regard.)

Now, those of you who led blameless childhoods and never caused your parents one sleepless night should stop reading immediately. I invite the rest of you who haven't completely repressed your growing-up years to complete the following exercise. It has two parts. The first can be completed on your own. The second is shared with someone else. If you have a spouse, she or he could participate. If not, find someone of similar age who doesn't have a history of blackmail or extortion.

Part 1 is designed to stimulate your memory. Take pencil and paper and tackle the following questions:

1. Name two things you and your parents argued about regularly.
2. Were you ever lectured by your parents because of your performance at school -- or lack of it?
3. What were five obscene words you knew and had used by the age of 15?
4. Did you ever go to, or hold, a party without your parents' permission?
5. At what age did you first try alcohol?
6. What music did you listen to and what did your parents think of it?
7. Did you ever hang out with friends that your parents disapproved of?
8. What best describes your room as a teenager:
   • Suitable for a full-page spread in Better Homes and Gardens
   • Borderline presentable
   • Eligible to be declared a conservation area because of the rare forms of life flourishing in its corners
9. Did you ever steal in the community or from your parents? (Yes, "borrowing" from the change on the dresser counts unless you've paid the money back with interest.)
10. Name one job you were given by your parents that you knew was reasonable but complained about regularly.
11. Did you ever argue about use of the family car? Did you do anything to (or in) the car that upset your parents, or would have upset them if they had known about it?
12. Think of a time you lied or otherwise deceived your parents that they still don't know about. (I dare you to tell them now.)
13. Did you ever experiment with street drugs such as marijuana?
14. Did you ever look at pornographic magazines?
15. What is THE WORST THING you ever did as a teenager?

Part 2 is an exercise that is a great icebreaker at workshops. It's based on observing my wife when she's with her siblings and old high school friends. Kathy has two brothers and two sisters. Their father never read Benjamin Spock, and his definition of permissiveness was giving them the choice between bowing and saluting when he came home. They also went to a Catholic school, and in those days the nuns didn't fool around when it came to instilling knowledge and correct behavior in their charges. Talking en route to your next class was a venal sin, and any boy caught with his hands in his pockets was sent to the Grand Inquisitor. As a result, the children devoted much of their time and energy to finding ways to beat the system at home and school. Listening to them talk about what they got up to with one another or with their friends is quite an education. The best part of their reminiscing is observing my inlaws' reactions when they're treated to these trips down memory lane. As yet they have only been permitted to hear segments of the collective memoirs -- you have to take such things very gently. At times they seem amused. On other occasions, however, they're clearly shocked. You can see signs of disapproval, and you know that if there were a way to ground a middle-aged son or daughter, they'd find it.

So sit down together with your lists and take turns talking about what you were like as teenagers. Try to outdo one another. You'll probably find that once your partner has disclosed a few of his or her misdemeanors it will feel safer to talk about your past with abandon. In no time at all it will be like you're being interviewed for a lead article in True Confessions.

Learning from Experience

Sometimes it seems as if teenagers waste a lot of time discovering what we've known and have been trying to teach them for years. I've met parents who are open in discussing the problems they had themselves during their adolescence. Remembering their negative experiences makes them determined that their son or daughter won't make the same mistakes. I have no difficulty empathizing with them. The drive to protect our children and our wish that they not be hurt in any way are very strong. But I've come to appreciate that children can't always learn through hearing about other people's experiences. It simply doesn't work. This seems to be true at all stages of development.

One example with young children is the "lesson" of the importance of sharing. I recall one specific occasion when our youngest child, Alexandra, was playing with a friend's daughter. Both were toddlers. Tears and raw violence had erupted over possession of the favorite toy of the moment. Feeling the pressure to demonstrate my child-rearing skills, I offered suggestions about taking turns that were met with looks that, roughly translated, said, "Tell someone who cares." Fortunately, Alexandra eventually yawned, or at least opened her mouth wide enough that I could pretend she had. This permitted the lame but often-used justification for antisocial behavior: "She's a bit cranky, you know; she needs a nap."

Alexandra and Jennifer became good friends. As they grew older they discovered that sharing could help them have a lot of fun. When they wanted to play school they learned that, while they could do this on their own, cooperation allowed them to have both a teacher and a student who co...