a spot of worry
Thursday, August 20 “You’ve been really pissy the past three days,” Oldest Son, who will turn 16 in December, said to me tonight at dinner. “Are you grouchy about something?” he asked.
“I’m still bummed that you’re dropping cross country,” I replied. "And don't say 'pissy' to your mother."
Oldest Son will be a sophomore this year, and ran cross country last year as a freshman, after having run in middle school. He was a good runner, but then a bunch of boys he was used to running with hit puberty, and left him in the dust. My heart clenched into a tiny fist when I saw him at those meets in eighth and ninth grade, skinny white legs pumping hard but still coming in at the end of the pack, jaw set like a boy determined not to cry. It didn’t seem fair that he could work at something without the satisfaction of placing well. I was sure the universe was testing his character with a reward that was just a few strides away.
Oldest Son working his way towards the finish line back in middle school.
The high school that Oldest Son goes to is Big. A place where you need to belong to something, or you get lost. And because Oldest Son still confides in me about stuff, like, “Tons of kids are getting into their parent’s prescription pain killers and selling them,” I think a focused kid is a kid who stays out of trouble.
Last spring, Oldest Son decided not to run track, and often came home from school and zoned out in front of the TV (watching HUNTING SHOWS). Homework was started at 9 p.m. We argued when the grades arrived. Yep, he had all As and Bs. Not bad. Not bad at all except that he pulled those off sitting in front of the TV and putting in a few minutes studying at night before bedtime. And his geometry teacher wrote on his report card that the B-minus she gave him was “a disappointing finish for one of her best students.”
Then when a senior at Oldest Son’s high school tried to kill himself just before graduating last school year Oldest Son said, “Yeah, I heard his parents were pressuring him too much.”
“Look,” I said. “I know what a smart kid you are and I’m always trying to figure out how to help you do your best without going overboard. If I am going too far, we can talk. I make this parenting stuff up as I go. But you have to trust that I love you and want what’s best for you.”
So I’m anxious about this school year and it hasn’t even started yet.
Last fall when Oldest Son ran cross country he came home and got right down to studying, because time was precious. I’ve seen the cross country kids out running already this season, and I’m sad he’s not going to be a part of their group — a group of really nice kids. He needs a group, right?
This past year he grew four inches and he now has MAN PARTS, which still FREAKS ME OUT. Given that, this is what I had envisioned for him this semester: Cool, autumn days running with friends, big dinners waiting at home, homework, and weekend meets where he would finally experience a bit of payoff (read: testosterone equals speed) for hanging in there these past years.
But now he says he hates running.
At some point, a kid gets old enough to assert what he will and he won’t do. And aside from monitoring his grades and making sure he’s not up to even half of what I was at his age, I have to step back and trust he’ll be okay.
The other night he asked me to snuggle in bed with him (do NOT tell him I told you that) like I used to when he was younger. When he was two he went through a stage where he never shared his toys and would push other kids. I thought something was wrong with him, and very wrong with me for not being able to control him. And yet here he is. This cool amazing kid who even other people think is great too.
My little voice says I need to take the long view here. The answer to the question, “So what is Oldest Son up to these days, besides school?” is, “Well, not much,” for now. When Oldest Son asked me to snuggle with him, he knew I was upset about the cross country thing. But the cool thing is that he cares about our relationship and wants to know that I still love him. And that means more than him enacting the plan I have for him in my head.
Maybe letting him grow up means loosening my grip on who I want him to be, making space for him to figure out who he really is.
(Did I just write something sage-like? That was totally weird.)
Oldest Son and me after a cross country meet in 2007, before he grew four inches (and counting) taller than me.
Reader Comments (1)
What an insightful post. You are exactly right, that there does come a point where you can no longer micro-manage their life, as much as you want to (and for some reason feel like you need to). What really stands out is your relationship with Oldest Son - you are so lucky you two are able to talk. That speaks volumes but I'm sure doesn't make it any easier for the moment.
This really hit me when I read it, I'm getting the "I can do this myself" vibe these days. It's just like he's two all over again, except with big feet and man parts.
Afraid you did write something sage-like.