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One night last week, our 9-year-old son complained that no one in the family would help him study.
“Study by yourself,” my 14-year-old son said. “What do I do? I take a book and go up to my room, right?”
“But you didn’t when you were nine,” I said. “You needed help, too.”
I often think of adolescence as an underground tunnel. You enter on your hands and knees and come out the other end stretching and standing tall.
Our sons are at opposite ends of the adolescent tunnel.