Things to Do With Your Teenager (When They'd Rather Be Anywhere Else)

My kids are two and eight months, so I'll be honest up front: I'm writing this one ahead of time. I don't have a teenager. What I have is a clear memory of being one, and so do you.

Almost nothing that works on a teenager involves sitting across a table and talking about feelings.

If you searched "things to do with your teenager" you're probably past the point where the old stuff works. Your kid doesn't want to build a fort. Doesn't want to go to the hardware store. Would rather be in their room, and when you ask what's wrong, you get "nothing," and you both know that's not true. This list is for that. Son or daughter, every one of these has the same thing underneath it, and I'll get to that at the end.

The Ones That Get Them Talking

Drive to nowhere

No destination. Pick a direction and drive. Your kid controls the music and you make zero comments on the music, even the ones you want to make. Somewhere around mile ten, ask one real question. Not "how's school." Something you actually want to know. Then stop somewhere for food you both like and head back when it feels like time. Teenagers talk in the car because they don't have to look at you. That's not a trick, it's just how they're built, and you can use it. I wrote about why this one is so personal for me in The Drive to Nowhere.

Porch sit

Both phones inside. Go sit on the porch, or the steps, or the tailgate, or the curb. Don't open with a question. Just sit there. Count to sixty in your head if you have to. When your kid talks, and they will, ask one follow-up and then let it go quiet again. Fifteen minutes and you're done, same time next week. This is the cheapest thing on the list and after a month it's the one that pays the most. Card here.

The interview

You'll get an eye roll. Do it anyway. Sit across from your kid, hit record on your phone, video not just audio, and ask five questions. What's the best thing about being you right now. What do you want to be. What's something I do that annoys you. What do you want to remember about this year. Anything you want to tell me. Don't react, don't correct, just listen, especially to the third one. Save it with the date. A sixteen-year-old on video answering "what do you want to be" is a file you'll watch at their wedding. The full breakdown is in The Interview: Questions to Ask Your Kid Tonight.

The Ones That Give Them Something to Do With Their Hands

Teach them one thing you actually know

They're going to be on their own in a few years. Pick the thing they'll need: jump a car, change a tire, fix a running toilet, cook a real meal from nothing. Show them once, slow, and then hand it over and let them do it start to finish while you keep your hands in your pockets. Frame it as "you're going to need this," not "let me teach you," and do it side by side. A teenager will take a lesson that way that they'd never take across a table. I wrote about why this one matters in Teach Your Kid One Thing You Actually Know How to Do.

Kid picks dinner, kid cooks it

At this age, hand over the whole thing. They pick, they shop, they cook, you eat. Your job is to be in the kitchen without cooking. Do the dishes, lean on the counter, stay out of the way. A kitchen is the best side-by-side there is, and a teenager with a knife in hand and something on the stove will tell you things they'd never say on the couch. Full version in Let Your Kid Pick Dinner.

Game night, their rules

Whatever your kid's into, that's the door, and at this age the door is probably a screen. Walk through it instead of standing outside judging it. They pick the game. They teach you. You're bad at it, and that's the point. Play for real: don't let them win, don't blow them out. Then put a rematch on the calendar for next week. Ask anybody who grew up gaming: the dads who sat down on the couch and got destroyed at whatever the kids were playing were the ones the kids talked to. Card here.

The Ones That Say "I Trust You"

They plan the whole day

Give your kid a budget and a time window. Fifty bucks, noon to six. They plan it: where, what, in what order. You don't edit. You drive, you pay, and you show up with a good attitude even if the plan is three hours at a mall you hate. On the way home, name one thing they planned well. Handing a teenager the plan says you trust them, and they'll hear that louder than anything you could say out loud. Card here.

Hike with a mission

They'll pretend they don't want to go. Go anyway. Under two hours, and make the mission something with a real payoff: a view, a swimming hole, a spot for a photo they'll actually post. Your kid navigates. You carry the snacks. Walk next to them, not in front, not behind. At the top, sit for ten minutes and don't rush the sit. I wrote it all up in Hiking With Kids, and the teenager version is the one I'm most looking forward to.

The Thing Underneath All of These

Look back at the list. Car, porch, kitchen, controller, trail. Every one of them puts you next to your kid instead of across from them. Every one gives their hands or their eyes something to do so their mouth can do the rest. That's the whole secret with teenagers, and it's the thing most of us wish somebody had known about us.

Think back. At sixteen, you wouldn't have sat down for a talk. Nobody could have made you. But you'd have gotten in the car. You'd have sat on the porch if somebody was already sitting there. You'd have let somebody beat you at a game and then demanded a rematch. The door was open the whole time. It was just on the side of the house, not the front.

None of these need money or a plan. They need you to shut up a little longer than feels comfortable, and to keep showing up on the same day next week whether or not last week went anywhere.

If you're standing in the hallway outside a closed bedroom door right now with no idea what to do, I built something for exactly that. Pick "teen," how much time you've got, and how much energy you've got left, and it hands you one idea. Try the activity generator.

And if you've still got a little one in the house too, the lists for sons and daughters start younger.

Lock in.

-- Gene, The Dad Post