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| I sure do miss these days sometimes ... |
Ben sure is showing his age these days. No, it's not the same way I'm showing mine, with ever-deepening lines between his eyebrows and on his forehead and new gray hairs that seem to sprout every month. Ben is beginning his metamorphosis into a preteen.
The process started gradually. For example, Ben's
mortification was clear when last summer dropping him off at day camp, I
slipped and kissed the top of his head saying goodbye to him. I noticed that he
was becoming more particular about his clothes, little things like that.
Now, though, everything is changing at once. The boy who,
when he was a newborn, refused to sleep anywhere but on my or Mark's chest has
now forsaken all attempts to kiss and accepts and gives hugs only grudgingly.
It's not only the spurned affection that makes me more
than a little sad, it's watching my oldest slowly shed the vestiges of little
boyhood. This year, he refused to hand out Valentines to his classmates. (Much
to my embarrassment, he still received many treats and cards from his peers.
"Come on, Ben, you could've at least handed out some candy!") Clearly
his focus has turned away from what's fun and toward what's socially acceptable
and cool. How long before he refuses to don a costume and go trick-or-treating?
This is all happening too quickly!
Ben, who is the youngest in his class, is also the smallest boy. This takes a greater and
greater toll on him as he grows older. In an effort to build strength, we
sometimes catch him doing crazy workouts in the basement, running back and
forth lofting hand weights into the air.
If my skinny guy keeps increasing his food intake like he's been, he should be
bigger in no time. He ate seven slices of bacon at breakfast on Sunday.
Ben's mood swings probably don't hold a candle to mine at his age, but I do see moodiness emerging. The other day, Paul did something that annoyed Ben. I was sitting right there and witnessed the whole scene. What Paul did was nothing, but Ben just lost it, yelling and storming off. I remember those emotions well. Suddenly irritation just overtakes you, and you know you're being irrational. You realize you're taking it too far, you even look a little ridiculous. And yet you feel powerless to stop it. That's where Ben was the other day.
All of this, I know, is only the beginning of his slow
dance away from us. Our parental influence will continue to shrink as his
peers' grows and grows. It's all as it should be, and yet it's painful.
I suppose it's just an illusion, a wish, that our kids
really belong to us at all. Each of my boys is a gift, one that Mark and I have
been given to nurture and grow so that one day, we will set them free in the
world. Everything we do leads to that culmination. The letting go starts with
tiny steps that grow ever larger: first time we leave them with a babysitter,
first night away, first day of preschool, of kindergarten, and on and on.
Ben is coming to a crossroads: the end of elementary
school, so this all feels so real to me at the moment. In the coming years,
Mark and I will need to guide, to summon patience, to hope for the best as our
boy works to become a man. And you'd better believe I'm going to hold on to all
the remaining moments with all my might.
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