This year, I’m ignoring all the hype, this commercialization of another chance for a new beginning for all of us. I’m not making any more New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I took my pastor’s advice: On New Year’s Eve, I let go of a few things I wanted to get rid of and that leaves me with a stronger energy to act rather than talk.

Of course, it’s hard to lose personal baggage in a few days, but there’s something mighty powerful in admitting our shortcomings in specific areas and then deciding to not do it anymore.  More importantly, I also have prayer.

So, I’m not making a resolution to exercise and eat healthy foods, call longtime friends more often or act silly and dance around the house with my 16-year-old daughter. I’ve realized that I don’t need to make anymore pronouncements to myself or anyone else. I’ll be focusing my effort on doing what’s in my heart.

My daughter says she’d going to be doing the same thing. She went with me to the Watch Night Service and the next day told me that she also had decided to let go of a few things that she hung onto in 2010.  One of them was her attitude toward a girl at her high school. A few days ago, she started grumbling about something the girl had done and then stopped herself. “Mom,” she said, “I said I was going to let go, so I’m not saying anything else.”

This year will be an interesting  journey for both of us. How are you approaching 2011?

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At my Baptist church here is Charlotte, building confidence among our youth has become a priority. A couple months ago when I saw the announcement for the launch of Leadership University, I quickly signed up my 15-year-old daughter for monthly Saturday morning classes and field trips. I didn’t realize that I would be going to school, too.

This Bible verse is at the heart of a thoughtful and challenging program:

               Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God.

                                                                                                  2 Cor. 3:4 

Through structured exercises and lectures, the children will tackle topics such as self-identity, mastering fear, self-control, courage and collaboration. They’ll also have sessions in the basics of Latin, to help improve reading comprehension and language skills. For the first hour of each month’s four-hour session, the parents will meet separately to talk about the same issues and how we can help our children. Parents also have a suggested reading list.

I was pleased after the first parent session. While I read some parenting books when my daughter was much younger, I haven’t researched parenting strategies in recent years. I realized from the discussion that becoming an educated, skilled parent is a continuous and creative process. I won’t go into the details of the tips that our lecturer offered about helping create confidence but I’ll share several things I’ve been doing over the past few weeks. My daughter and I have created a family creed and written down our family values. And, I look for ways to introduce humor into situations that previously may have been aggravating.

In my Juggling Act as a Baby Boomer mom of a teenager and a middle-aged daughter of an 80-year-old mother, I realize that I still have plenty of learning to do, to help both of them.

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Michael Baisden’s voice boomed .  ”Callers, how much privacy do you think teenagers should have? Let me hear from you.”  The popular radio talk show host was in the midst of generating listener discussion on the hot topic and offering  his opinions on the matter, too.

One caller reported that she searches her daughter’s room and reads text messages. Baisden agreed, wondering aloud why parents allow their children to use computers alone in their rooms or even to lock their bedroom doors. “I don’t think teenagers should have much privacy,” he said. “Parents need to know what’s going on.”

My 15-year-old daughter grumbled. “Mom,” she said, “we shouldn’t be listening to this. What he’s saying isn’t right. He’s giving parents the wrong ideas.”

I chuckled, and asked my daughter how much privacy teenagers ought to get. Of course,  she favored having no parents looking over teenage shoulders and said, “They should trust us.”

I told my daughter that I trust her and appreciate it when she shares with me what is going on in her life with friends.  But there is no such thing as absolute privacy, I told her. “I expect you to make wise choices.”

Every few months, I do Face book inspections. My daughter and I together look over her postings and those of her friends and so far I’ve noticed no irresponsible behavior or mysterious friends. I do wish, though, that the kids would write real sentences.

My daughter didn’t ask if I’ve searched her room or read some of her text messages.

How much privacy do you give your teenagers?

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Then, she asked all couples who had been married 50 years or more to stand. There were six, including my aunt and uncle, another aunt and uncle and family friends. The banquet room erupted into applause.

What an awe-inspiring testimony from these 12 people: they had made a commitment to marriage and kept it. Of course, they were married during an era when it was widely assumed that men and women walk down the aisle once. We all know that notion is aging along with the couples in that room, all in their 70s and 80s.

The reasons are plenty, including more unmarried couples living together and the increased job prospects for women. Still, the sight of those older people standing proudly to show off their accomplishment reminded me that I have not yet talked to my 15-year-old daughter about commitment.

I imagine that many parents don’t do that these days. We get stuck warning our kids about drugs, sex, the perils of the internet and staying away from bad people so we often say too little about our core values. What it means to commit to friendship, to marriage, to anything. What it means to be honorable. What it means to treat others with respect and dignity.

My daughter and I have talked some about such matters, but not enough. There are so many distractions–cell phones, texting, IPods, Face book, YouTube. Our lives are saturated with information and we often talk too much about the stuff that doesn’t really matter.

I’m planning to invite my daughter to tea. When she was about eight years old, I asked her one day, “What would you do for a perfect day?” She responded,” I would eat cakes, drink tea and read.” So I’ll create “a perfect afternoon”– tea, homemade sweets and conversation.

Then, I’ll do what parents do all the time. Give her money, for books.

(P.S. We will be having afternoon tea regularly.)

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She reluctantly did the homework assignment I gave her, to read about Niagara Falls and the role of the Underground Railroad there. She was going to travel with her former Girl Scout troop to visit the area and I’ve always felt that it’s important to know about a place being visited to fully appreciate the experience. My daughter calls it vacation homework. Over the years, I’ve also asked her to write  essays about her summer experiences, all in an effort to keep her skills sharp when she’s out of school.

We’ve been in Charlotte for nearly a year and the adjustment to the ways of the south has been tough for my 15-year-old daughter. She was thrilled to be able to join her Girl Scout buddies and to visit other friends during a 10-day visit. I didn’t tell her this but I was  excited, too: I was getting my annual summer break, from mothering every day. Do I need to say more? I turned on the stove only one day. There was no blaring teenage hip-hop music drowning out my jazz and blues. The house was peaceful and quiet. 

Anyway,  I arranged for my daughter to travel to Washington on the train with one of my sisters, who lives there and timed a visit to our mother so that my daughter could go back with her. After a day-long ride, my daughter called me, reporting that it had been a good trip.

“I’m back,” she said, “in the city I love.”

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The stories are diverse – teens and young adults in France are protesting a law which increases the retirement age from 60 to 62, a new Indiana law targets teen for blood donations, its tough this summer for teens to find jobs. Of course, there are the usual crime stories. But teens also are chatting about the happenings.

I was surprised by the hostility that some teens shared about some of the news events. The website is a fascinating look at what some young people are thinking and how they’re reacting to what’s going on around them. Take a look when you can.

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We were sitting in her bedroom, talking about the Gulf of Mexico oil spill –its impact on animals, the reaction of BP executives, the future impact on the environment. We chatted easily, grew passionate about our views, listened to each other. “I’m not going to eat anymore fish,” my mother said at one point. “There’s nothing anyone can say to convince me it’s safe anymore.”  I didn’t try to change her mind, but suggested that most of us now will pay closer attention to where the seafood we want to buy was caught.

Over dinner, we discussed my daughter’s summer plans, my mother’s hairstyle, her daily exercises to help improve her walking after knee replacement surgery a few months ago. Later, I helped her take care of a household matter. We laughed together.

When I was getting ready to leave, my mother told me, “I really enjoyed spending time with you today.” I agreed, realizing that we were connecting to each other as adults, not only as a parent and child.  

When I decided to move back to North Carolina nearly a year ago, a part of the reason was to be able to spend more time with my mother and help her as she is aging. There have been a few tensions but we have successfully worked them out without any lingering problems. We’ve learned to compromise. We hug each other a lot.

My mother still insists that I call her when I travel to let her know I’ve arrived safely. She offers advice about what’s going on in my life, but only if I ask for it. She respects me; I respect her. We don’t take each other for granted. We like to talk to each other. We’re friends.

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For a few moments, I was a bit confused. The idea of being a senior is foreign to me. That’s not how I think of myself, and neither do any of my other 50-something Baby Boomer friends.  My voice almost cracked  when I responded, “Why are you asking?”

My daughter gave me the envelope she was holding and pointed to the return address, which included the words senior healthcare. The letter was addressed to me and came from my new physicians’ group here in North Carolina. I didn’t choose the doctors because I think of myself as a senior or because I have significant health problems. I figured it would be a good idea to have specialists who would already know my health history when I’m really old.  

Studies show that Baby Boomers, who range in age from 46 to 64, are fighting the description of people over 50 as seniors, unless, of course, it is used for those who are at least 80-years-old. A recent survey showed that Boomers feel much younger than their actual ages, and as age increases, the gap between their real age and perceived age expands. Turning 50, many say, is the new 40.

I looked at my daughter and could see the fear in eyes. For a 15-year-old, someone who is 30 is considered old, so a description of someone as a senior means ancient, near death. I reached over, gave her a hug, and told her, “No, I’m not a senior.”  

When life spans were shorter, turning 50 meant old age.  But at a time when older adults are still having kids, skydiving, running marathons and learning the latest dance steps, age is a state of mind.

If you’re over 50, how do you think of your age? Are you a senior or not?

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We’ll be meeting friends over Memorial Day Weekend for an annual summer camping adventure. Destination: a campgrounds in Virginia.  Accommodations: a rustic cabin.  Amenities: the sounds of nature, cooking over the campfire, long walks, time to stare at the nighttime sky. Inconveniences: plenty, but they’re minor in comparison to the good times.

We’ve been a part of several  camping groups over the years.  One group included more than two dozen families; we traveled annually to campgrounds up and down the East Coast; we always slept in tents. The families were split into teams to prepare the meals, so a friendly competition developed over the food. Let’s just say that the meals were hardly hamburgers and hot dogs. It was close to being gourmet – pancakes with fruit topping for breakfast, hummus and vegetable sandwiches for lunch, several kinds of chili for dinner, for example. We camped, rain or shine.

Our other camping excursions have been with a small group of mothers and daughters who have gathered every summer for more than a decade at a favorite  campground in Maryland. Our girls are best friends. The moms have become sistah-friends. But during those adventures, we opted to forego sleeping on the ground and turned to small, rustic cabins.

As my 15-year-old daughter and I were making plans to move to North Carolina last year, we knew we didn’t want our camping tradition to end. So we’re meeting another mom and her daughter this weekend. My daughter and I have already started recalling stories from past outings, and we’re looking forward to telling scary stories, roasting marshmallows and maybe floating down a river again on a tube. This year, the girls have something else look forward to: They’ll be able to do more of the cooking.

What are some of your favorite camping memories?

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Consider the goings-on at my house. On Sundays, my daughter and I go to the 9:30 a.m. services at a Baptist church. My daughter gets up, rushes to get dressed and then as I am applying my finishing touches starts complaining that she doesn’t want to be late. In fact, she’s intent on getting to the separate youth services early. Monday mornings, and every morning during the week, she barely gets to the school bus stop on time. Seems like the behavior of an alien to me.

A month or so ago, I took my 15-year-old daughter for her annual physical examination. I had been telling her for months that she needed to use a deep moisturizing cream on her skin every day since it is very dry. She ignored my advice and insisted doing it once a week or so was adequate. The doctor noticed the dry patches on her skin and repeated the advice. Now, my daughter applies the cream most days. Seems like the behavior of an alien to me.

One day my daughter is talkative, pleasant, sharing the stories of her life. The next she’s silent, moody and spends hours in her bedroom, behind a closed door. Sometimes she likes to tell jokes; sometimes she doesn’t smile. Seems like the behavior of an alien to me.

There are times when we act silly together. There are times when I wonder about the silliness of something she’s done.

My mother probably thought I was an alien, too.  I have plenty of stories — like the time I didn’t say anything to my parents for several weeks, except when spoken to, because they made me show them my bank book after I got my first job. I was 15 1/2. I used to spend hours in my bedroom reading books. I was moody sometimes too.   

I still give my daughter hugs. I tell her how wonderful she is. I know that she is going to come back to earth. In five years or so.

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