The Kids Are Alright

"But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I've learned."

-- Sara Groves, "Painting Pictures of Egypt"

Sam's Radio Flyer 8-18-14

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths,

but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands."

-- Anne Frank

Saturday -- after spending the summer at home -- my oldest child moved his belongings into his very first, very own, apartment. 

He'll have the whole place to himself.

No roommates.

No rules.

He'll call his own shots.

He'll buy his own groceries.

He'll cook his own meals.

He'll make his own mistakes.

He'll be his own man.

He's so damn ready to fly this fucking coop -- this place that surrounds him with reminders of his childhood.

I'm not one of those "while you're living in my house you'll follow my rules" kind of parents. I only put the hammer down when one of my kids, or someone else, might get hurt.

Otherwise, I'm about the most permissive parent on the planet.

Still, after his freshman year taste of freedom and independence, this place, this house, this environment, is no longer "home" for him.

And it's not because he doesn't like it here. It's not because he doesn't like us. We get along swimmingly and have had a great, fun summer together.

He's simply outgrown this place -- like a bloom that has unfurled and can no longer reconfigure its petals back into the tight wrappings of the bud it once was.

What's that quote from Anais Nin? "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

And that's perfectly alright.

It's exactly as it should be.

It's good and right and the whole point of raising a child in the first place.

It's the natural progression of the growth of a young man who is ready to leave the mainland and set sail into the choppy expanse of his own adventure, his own story, his own life.

I'll stay behind and be a white flag on the shore so he can find his way back if and when he needs to.

I'll be a lantern in the lighthouse to illuminate the coastline.

I'll be ballast in his hull to help steady his ship in stormy seas.

I'll be a gentle breeze to fill his sails.

I just hope I'll never, ever be an anchor.

A Grown Up Lunch Date

"I'm not making art, I'm making sushi."

-- Masaharu Morimoto

Play Doh sushi 5-11-14

My, how times have changed.

When my son Sam was little, a "lunch date" usually meant a fast food kids' meal and a trip to the toy store.

Now that he's all grown up (he turns 19 tomorrow), Sam's tastes have matured, a lot. Yesterday, we had a perfectly lovely lunch date at a sushi restaurant (his choice), followed by some upscale shopping to replenish his work/school wardrobe.

He wears a suit and tie to work and classes nearly every day, so he needed some new dress shirts and shoes.

Way back when, he'd have balked at the merest mention of dreaded clothes shopping. Now he shops like a pro. He knows exactly what he needs, goes in and gets it, has membership benefits and coupons that slice the final tally in half and then shave 40 percent off that. I just tag along, try to keep up, stand back and watch him work, and help carry his shopping bags.

As for the sushi, of course there was a day when, like most little kids, he preferred hamburgers and french fries with a toy in the box. He wouldn't have touched raw fish with a pair of ten foot chopsticks. Now, he gets positively giddy over the prospect of yellowtail sashimi and a rainbow roll.

It's Mother's Day today, and while I do sometimes miss the days when my boys were little and wish I could pick them up and hold them one more time, I also love where they both are now -- young men, confident and capable and becoming who they're meant to be. Naturally, with growth comes change, changes in what they do, what they like, and even what they eat.

I'm not opposed to change. I'm intrigued by it, actually. And I hope I'm the kind of mother who'll never interfere with either of my boys "becoming." I'd much rather tag along as an observer and watch the fascinating metamorphosis unfold.

God forbid I should ever stand in the way of such a good and beautiful thing.