Learning How to Live from Our Own Children
I’m the one walking backwards in the sand, away from the waves, toward the grassy bluff, where the hills of Santa Cruz meet the Pacific ocean. I’m the one who can’t take her eyes off of the boy who is playing at the meaty edge of sand between the waves and the rock. I’m afraid to turn around, afraid if I watch where I’m going, if my eyes stray from that boy, he will disappear. But nature takes its course and I trip. When I wake up, I’m in a panic. I realize I was just dreaming. But I jump out of bed and run to my son’s room. His light is still on; and when I reach down to turn it off, I see his book open to chapter 4. It’s such a long book, I think to myself. And he has so many more chapters to go. He’s growing up. That’s good. But it feels like he’s moving away from me. It feels like I am loosing him.
I’m a teacher, a writer, a webmaster but more than that; I’m a mother. I never knew that so profoundly as when my son started second grade this year. Now that he’s seven years old, he sees himself as “older”. He compares himself to kindergarteners and first graders. He looks down on them adoringly and labels their actions-like holding their buddies hand when they walk to the restroom, to make sure they can find their way back to class or when the mothers arrive at the school, the kinders run toward them in abandon and give them a big hug-as disgustingly immature. So when I pick him up at the school recently, he bursts out of the classroom with all the other boys, talking first to one boy and then another, not paying much attention to me. He does make eye contact with me and I smile and wave which he ignores. I chat with a couple other mothers for awhile, to let him have a few moments with his friends, but eventually the other mothers walk toward their cars and I am alone on one side of the campus and my son, the other.
He is standing with a group of his friends. I wave for him to hurry up. I am pretty sure he can see me. Do I really have to walk across the campus to get him to hurry up, I wonder. I move closer to the group of boys with enormous backpacks of which he is a member. They resemble those Ninja Turtles I used to see on T.V., back heavy. If you accidentally bumped one of them, he would loose his balance and fall backwards, like a turtle struggling to right himself. “Isn’t that backpack too heavy ?” I ask his friend. Nothing. Did I really say that ? I think to myself or did I just imagine I spoke, because no one is responding to me. They’re taking something Yu Gi Oh from out of their backpacks. “We have to go now.” I announce as I approach my son. “Yeah, yeah, yeah” he says.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see another mother, a friend. I turn and watch them. They are so cute together. She’s listening to her daughter, a classmate of my son, who is quite animated and looks as if she is telling her mother a good story. The girl smiles and the mother laughs; and I wish I had a daughter. Do you wanna trade ? I think to myself, as I stand outside of the group of Ninja Turtle-like group of boys who are ignoring my presence.
“That’s it”, I say under my breath, as the mother and daughter set are moving toward their car. “Time to go” I say to my son, who when I turn around to address him, has disappeared. The whole entourage has disassembled. And where is my son ? I look around and see he is over by the CDC talking to one last boy who is being called in by the teacher. “Over here” I wave at him. I know he’s heard me. I can tell from how he’s standing because he is purposely ignoring me now. His head is down and he’s kicking something. He is dawdling even more. I put my hands on my hips. He looks over at me. He’s wasting time on purpose, I think to myself, just to irritate me to rebel against me. He’s still not coming towards me. When he was in kindergarten and weighed only 40 lbs, I could have walked over there and just picked him up under my arm and carry him to the car. But I don’t. What would his friends think ? What can I do ?
I turn around and briskly walk in the direction of the car. Actually I am moving quite slowly, in case he should change his mind and join me, but to the onlooker I appear to be rushing to the car. I look over my shoulder as I leave the campus grounds. I see nothing. (But that’s the point, isn’t it ?) I keep walking to the car. I’m mad now but I’m pretending I don’t care he’s wasting my time with his immature antics. As I approach my car, I take out a novel from my purse. Holding it up in front of my face, I lean against the car. I sigh and remember my mother and similar circumstances where I behaved the same way. Suddenly, I feel empathy. My eyes are fixed on my book when I start to hear my son’s familiar shuffle down the sidewalk toward me. “Mom” he says. “Yes”, I reply, not looking up from my read. “I know you are not reading” “Yes, I am” I say. “No you are not” he says. “Do you know why I know that ?” “Why ?” I ask, taking the book down from my face. “Because your book was upside down.” he laughs. I smile. He’s watching me, I realize. Then I laugh. He quickly gets in the car and starts to chatter away about what happened that day at school. He informs me what child has what Yu Go Oh card; and the boy whose card is most powerful can battle another kids card and win. We finally have our conversation inside of the car.
This is the form that our communication has taken recently-by gestures and little confrontations– he wants to let me know he is in charge of his life, in some small way. It’s like, I want things to go smoothly like they did when he was in kindergarten and first grade. He wants to make his own decisions, do what he wants to do and when he wants to do it. There are things he won’t do with me anymore: like hold hands as we walk to the school or away from the school. And kissing, even a little kiss on the cheek is no longer permitted in public places. I tell me husband and he laughs. Is it funny ? Because I can feel him moving away from me. And there’s nothing I can do. It feels sad. How far will he go? I wonder.
But when I look at him, he’s not sad. He’s learning a lot in school. He has many friends. They think he’s cool; he thinks their great. And the Yu Gi Oh cards are flowing back and forth.
But where does that leave me ? This is my dilemma: Who am I, if I am no longer the mother holding hands with the kindergartener ?
In woman’s magazines, they say I can focus more on myself now as my son is growing up and becoming more independent. But I prefer a more essential way of looking at this process. This process of separating is a natural way of letting my son go, to be who he is meant to be. When I step back, he can move forward. It’s like a dance. But it’s more than that. When I step back from him, it is his decision to move toward me. He is moved by his own inner awareness. He is choosing. This is the gift I give to him, when I step back. Himself. He comes to know himself through the act of choosing. My son still needs me-I know that– but in a different way, that I can’t see yet. That way will become clear to me later. But now I can just let go and be glad my son is growing. And so am I.
