I Cold-Texted A Mom So Our Tik Tok Teens Could Meet “IRL”
The things we do for our kids. Forced isolation upped the stakes.
*IRL: in real life
“Moooooom!”
My teen barreled through my bedroom door, raising his voice when he noticed the AirPod in my ear. I’d been trying to drown out the sounds of my family as I worked.
“Can we go to Portland?”
No preamble. No, excuse me, are you busy? No, do you have a minute?
He was jumpy, moving in circles, like a toddler on Christmas morning hoping the red-bowed box contained a puppy. But he was no longer five and waist-high. He was fourteen, eyes outlined in charcoal, a silver hoop through his septum, and a bullet-studded choker around his neck. The hard exterior he curated was softened by his natal jawline, full cheeks, and the hard-to-contain excitement racing across his face.
He stood two heads taller me, his height enhanced by the $150 six-inch platform sneakers I’d bought him last Friday night—a spur of the moment trip to Hollywood Boulevard. Another impulsive excursion I’d indulged (after he pleaded the shopping spree’s absolute necessity). The last eighteen months hadn’t been easy. Forced isolation had canceled many extras.
“Can we? Can we fly to Portland?”
I turned off the music and practiced being present. Puberty and lockdown had reduced our interactions to these rare moments when he couldn’t avoid needing me (my wallet, my permission, my adult status). He spent most days in his room, scaffolded under a blanket, behind a screen, days-old dishes scattered at his feet, bent silverware under his desk; blackout shades and red LEDs completed the mood—dark and messy.
“Portland?” I asked. “What’s there?”
“Cinnamon.”
His one-word answer was impatient with teenage exasperation. He wanted a simple yes or no.
Cinnamon wasn’t a what, but a who. I’d met them when I’d interrupted a midnight baking session over FaceTime. Dishes clanking and an oven beeping had stirred me out of bed one random school night. Sometimes, I forget Cinnamon’s pronouns: they, she/they, they/he. I get confused. My teen has made so many new friends during quarantine; kids trying on new names, exploring their identity, and test driving their gender through language—all within the confines of a virtual world. Most of his online friends are not out to their parents.
Ignorance and hate force these kids to hide, reject and even harm themselves. This antiquated conformity to a patriarchal societal norm is dangerous and heart-breaking. Digital communities, like Snapchat, Discord, and Tik Tok—social media outlets we parents are brainwashed to fear—are the only place many young people feel safe to explore and express themselves. My empathic kid has found his tribe in these spaces, drawn together by common interests, and not limited by physical boundaries. He’s become the de facto trans-affirming Santa Claus, fulfilling Amazon wishlists of make-up, hairspray, and binders to closeted kids miserable in the Bible Belt. I’m happy to fund his generosity.
“So can we?”
He hopped from one foot to the other; the heavy soles of his platforms clunked on the hardwood. He was gearing up for an argument. His cheeks had reddened and his arms, covered past the elbows in fishnet gloves, twitched. A small button pinned near the collar of his shirt fluttered—a black circle with a five-pointed red star. Controversial symbols and dark clothing were elements of his self-expression, his independence, his journey to gain comfort in his skin.
He was prepared to badger and bully me into submission (his debate and negotiation skills are well-honed). He’d been conditioned to expect my reflexive “no.” When he was young, and until too recently, I parented with a blue-collar, Catholic ethos, “nothing is deserved unless earned.” Social isolation, Zoom fatigue, and outspoken, intelligent Gen Z teens, have made me examine and question my default reactions. Parenting from love doesn’t come as naturally to me as parenting from power. I’m still unlearning negative patterns.
I tapped on my keyboard—Portland. It’s been over a year and a half of no travel, I thought. We’re vaccinated. And isn’t Powell’s there? The mega bookstore that’s on the top of my library/book store travel wishlist.
My reflexive “no” paused and took a breath.
“Portland? I’ve never been,” I said. “It’s supposed to be a cool city. Get me the mom’s number. I’ll text her.”
His eyes popped in surprise at my affirmative and his crimson-stained lips stretched wide—the smile of the child who opened the red-bowed box Christmas morning and found the wet nose of a fluffy brown puppy.
For that smile, I would cold-text a strange mom. I’d invite myself and my kid to her city. I’d plan the trip.
Mom dating across state lines—how bad could it go?
Yes, to make it happen, I typed my most awkward text yet: “Hi, you don’t know me … but our kids met on Tik Tok …” (Unsaid in my carefully crafted message: “I’m not a weirdo, just a mom chasing my kid’s smile”)
I got lucky. Really lucky. The other mom was a fellow book nerd, foodie, and not one to say no to an ice-cold craft beer or splitting a plate of chicken wings. We clinked chilled glasses more than once, and said, “Wow, this could have gone really badly!”
Mom dating was a success. Portland was a blast.
And our Tik Tok teens met IRL. Priceless! Now that’s a commercial.
Where to next, kiddo?
Can you relate? Did quarantine push you out of your comfort zone? Share in the comments.
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