James C. Dobson - Raising Teenagers Right

During the summer of 1981, my family joined two others on a white water rafting trip down the beautiful Rogue River in Oregon. Those three days of churning water and blistering sun turned out to be one of the most exciting experiences of our lives... and perhaps my last! Just before departing on the journey I was told by our host, Dr. Richard Hosley, that the river is always boss. Forty-eight hours later I learned what he meant.

Rather than floating on the raft for forty miles in relative serenity and safety, I chose to paddle along behind in a plastic eight-foot canoe. And on the second afternoon, I insisted on rowing into the most treacherous part of the river. It was a bad decision.

Ahead lay a section of water known as the Coffeepot, so named because the narrowing of the rock-walled banks created an unpredictable, bubbling current that had been known to suck small boats below the surface without warning. In fact, one unfortunate raftsman drowned in that area a few summers ago. Nevertheless, I paddled toward the rapids with confidence (and blissful ignorance).

I seemed to be handling the task quite well for the first few moments, before everything suddenly came unraveled. I was hit unexpectedly by the backwash flowing over a large rock and was unceremoniously thrown into the turbulent water. It seemed like an eternity before I came to the surface, only to find breathing impossible. A bandana that had been around my neck was now plastered across my mouth and was held there by my glasses. By the time I clawed free and gasped for air, another wave hit me in the face, sending half the river into my lungs. I came up coughing and sputtering before taking another unscheduled trip below the surface. By then I was desperate for air and keenly aware that the Coffeepot was only twenty-five yards downstream!

A kind of panic gripped me that I had not experienced since childhood! Although my life jacket probably guaranteed my survival, I definitely considered the possibility that I was drowning. My family and friends watched helplessly from the raft as I bobbed through the rapids into the narrowest section of the river.

Through incredible rowing skill, Dr. Hosley managed to hold the raft until I could float alongside and grab the rope that rims the upper exterior structure. Then, as we were thrown from one side of the river to another, I pulled my feet up and sprang off the rocks and into the raft, avoiding a crushing blow against the vertical walls of the bank. I can assure you that I rode for several miles in the safety of the raft before moving a muscle!

The only lasting casualty of the experience is a matter of collegiate pride. Dr. Hosley was wearing a shirt with his beloved Stanford University named across the front. It survived the trip. But somewhere on the bottom of the Rogue River in shame and dishonor lies a watersoaked hat bearing the logo of the University of Southern California. It was a sad moment in the historic rivalry between the two alma maters!

After the crisis had passed, I reflected on the utter helplessness I had felt as the rivers toy. My life was totally out of control and nothing could be taken for granted, not even a breath of air. Then my thoughts turned to the similar panic that is expressed so often in my counseling practice and in letters that are sent to my office. I currently receive thousands of letters per day, many of which reflect the same helplessness and lack of control I felt in the Rogue River. In fact, the analogy to drowning is certainly appropriate in this context; anxious people often use that precise term to describe the experience of being inundated by the events of life. Either they or their loved ones are involved in drug abuse, infidelity, alcoholism, divorce, physical disabilities, mental illness, adolescent rebellion, or low self-esteem. And immediately downstream are even greater dangers and threats.

Not all of the people who express this kind of anxiety are adults who have had time to mature and perceive life from a grown-up perspective. Some are children and adolescents who are trying to cope with problems in the best way possible. And for many today, their only alternative seems to be the ultimate self-hatred of suicide. Consider the following letter I received last year from a bewildered young man whom Ill call Roger.

Dear Dr. Dobson:

Hi, Im 11 years old. Im going into 6th grade. I just got done reading your book, Preparing for Adolescence. I want you to know it helped me.

When I was in 5th grade I was going with this girl. She broke up with me. I had family problems. [Emphasis mine.] So I tried to hang myself. Well I got a really bad pain in my neck. Then I got to where I couldnt breathe. I realized I wanted to live. So I yanked the noose off. And now God and I are struggling together.

Love,

Roger

P.S. I didnt go into drugs and I never will. I have been asked but I say no. Some people respect me, others think Im chicken. I dont care.

Each desperate letter of this nature that I receive represents thousands of individuals with similar problems who do not bother to write. And at the core of their vast reservoir of misery lies the great common denominator of turmoil within the family. (Note Rogers vague reference to his problems at home. One can imagine its pivotal role in his attempted suicide.) The American family is experiencing an unprecedented period of disintegration which threatens the entire superstructure of our society, and we simply must take whatever steps are necessary to insure its integrity.

The urgency of this mission has become the predominant passion of my professional life. My greatest desire is to serve the God of my fathers by contributing to the stability and harmony of individual families in every way possible. If I can prevent just one child from experiencing the nightmare of parental conflict and divorce and custody hearings and wrenching emotional pain, then my life will not have been lived in vain. If I can snatch a single fellow traveler from the turbulent waters that threaten to take him under, then there is purpose and meaning to my work. If I can lead but one lost human being to the personhood of Jesus Christ the giver of life itself then I need no other justification for my earthly existence.