Sometimes our children surprise us. Really surprise us.
I remember my older son defending his much littler brother against a bully, a kid who was beefier than both of them put together. But my first-born threw himself into the fray without hesitation, and got the bully to back off.
Flash forward nine years. That bully is one of my 16-year old’s friends, his tough guy stage long behind him. As for my “little” boy, it’s his courage – emotional courage – that astonished me last night.
A conversation
“I want to ask you something,” I say. He raises an eyebrow.
I’m sitting on the couch with my computer. He’s sprawled in a large armchair, next to me.
“It’s nothing embarrassing,” I say. “But I’d like to know. If I could do one thing differently to parent you better, what would it be?”
I pause. “Keep in mind I reserve the right to disagree, if I don’t think it’s in your best interest.”
My son’s response is immediate. It has nothing to do with my parenting in general, and everything to do with the specifics of a stalemate concerning his dad and me. One which puts him squarely in the middle.
I didn’t put him there, and I have “legality” on my side. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is where he is and understandably, he hates it. As expected, he’s being pressured to “work me” until I give in though he may not recognize it as such. I do. I know who and what I’m dealing with, and I’ve given in for years.
It would be easier, but it isn’t in his best interest for me to do so.
“It’s not my doing,” I say.
“Well Dad says…” and he recounts what he’s been told.
“That’s not the truth.”
He starts to squirm in the chair, and my stomach is knotting up.
“You say one thing, Dad says another. Who am I supposed to believe?”
We’d been through this, ten days earlier, and it hadn’t gone well. He was angry, I was in tears, and nothing was resolved. This time I am calmer and for some reason, I don’t hesitate. I go straight to a thick file on a nearby table, and pull out photocopies of documents, checks, and an 8-year old support agreement. I point to key numbers and paragraphs. He isn’t a child any longer. I shouldn’t treat him like one.
He reads; I see his expression change. It’s hard to argue with what’s in black and white.
For every action… a reaction
He sets the file down, and places his palms over his eyes as though he doesn’t want to see. He sinks his head into his hands for a moment, then looks at me. He seems, suddenly, so tired.
Silence.
“Do you know how much I love you?” I say.
“Yes,” he answers.
“You know your dad loves you, too, right?”
“Yes.”
And he’s quiet again.
“So what do you want me to do about this? What do you want me to say to him?”
“Talk to him. Now you have facts. That’s all.”
I’m silent.
For a moment I see the little boy. His fragility. The 8-year old that I spent three years putting back together after his father left. The 12-year old who said: “I love being a kid. I’m in no hurry to grow up.”
Eventually, we must grow up.
“I need food,” he says, and heads to the kitchen, opening the fridge and foraging for ham, mozzarella, mushrooms and spinach leaves. Then Chicago bread.
“Did you know that mushrooms are good for the prostate?”
I laugh.
“I had no idea,” I say.
He’s trying to lighten the mood, puttering around the stove, cooking his version of croque-monsieur sandwiches, chatting a little. Then we eat, and turn back to more serious topics: expenses, debt, college.
He offers to get work after school, to do whatever he needs to in order to help out. I tell him his job is to excel at his studies, and $6/hour for 10 or 15 hours/week – as much as I appreciate it – isn’t enough to justify compromising his academics.
Seeking Solutions
“What about portraits, if I got more commissions?” he asks. “That would pay enough to make some difference, wouldn’t it? And you’d get me clients?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do that,” he says.
He gets up, puts his dish in the sink, and digs his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to call Dad.”
He disappears into his bedroom and closes the door. He raises his voice a few times – something I’ve never heard him do with his dad. He emerges two hours later, sullen and saying nothing. I don’t know precisely what was discussed or how it went. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
It’s not over; I know his father. But perhaps what really matters is this act of bravery, the courage it took to stand up for himself, for me, and for what’s right. This time, he took on the bully.
It’s hard to imagine we can love our children more, but today, my love for my child is bigger. That’s not eloquent, but I’m not feeling eloquent. I’m feeling raw and sad and worried. I’m feeling proud of my son. He’s not a little boy any longer, yet I know I’ll need to shape my love around him tenderly as he deals with the inevitable fallout – and pain – of shattered illusions.
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The content I feel inadequate to comment on so I will instead tell you how beautifully this was written and what tenderness you approached such a difficult topic and what a wonderful mother you are and what a brave son you have.
Wow. A beautiful, if sad story. It is amazing watching these tiny acts of heroism our children are capable of.
Thanks for sharing.
Wow. Just a big freaking Wow. What a ballsy thing for him to do.
And what a courageous question for you to ask your son. I think I see where he gets his spirit…
The intensity in this post makes me shiver. The love between a child and their mother is beautiful. The vehemence with which a mother will protect her child is indescribable. Much is written on this subject, but not much on how children will protect their own mothers (and fathers).
Divorce is an ugly and sticky situation. Even if both sides remain civil, it can turn into a “he says, she says” fiasco. Children are often confused about what is truth, and will form their own opinions without facts. Your honesty must have been appreciated. You didn’t just say something, you did something.
I don’t know your ex, or even the reasons behind the divorce, but from what I see you are doing what is best for your sons. The financial struggles you must be going through is rough. The example you are showing your sons is necessary.
I can only imagine how it must have felt to finally put the facts out there, to let him see it all, and then move from there.
I wish I had more words for you, but this left me raw (like you said, and for lack of better words on my part) as well. Thank you so much for sharing this intimate and intense moment.
just lovely
i really admire you
Wow. I read this post after recently having a similar situation happen, but it was me who had to show the courage, something I had never done before. Your words resonated inside me. What a beautiful relationship you have with your children. I don’t know you or your son, but I feel very proud of him. It can be so hard to face reality, and your son showed much courage. Thanks so much for sharing this.
This is beautiful. How brave and honest and wonderful of your son. And of you! Mine are younger, 4 and 7, but there are days when they say things that give me a shiver up my spine, words that are mature and wise and that remind me that they are little people, just here for a while. Remind me of my immense responsibility. And melt me a little.
(thank you also for your wonderful comment – I could not find your email to thank you!)
BLW – you are a brave woman. The details of my kids’ father’s leaving are still a mystery to them (or at least I delude myself into thinking they are a mystery).
More than half my son’s life has been lived in this gray area between his parents. There are always many sides to every story, many versions of truth, and there are also outright lies. Facts are facts. And yes, for too many, it isn’t just the divorce itself, it is the aftermath – years of it – that continues to deform the way we see the world. As parents, we do the best we can, most of us, to do right by our kids. The best we can, without a rule book, and each child, a very different flower to cultivate. Sometimes we keep things from our children believing it is the better part of valor. Other times, it seems that the truth is the best answer. I don’t think we ever know which it is. We feel our way, and hope for wisdom.
I still don’t know if it was the right thing. He hasn’t spoken of it yet. But it felt like the right thing, partly, because he has matured so much, even in the past month or two. I take my cues from him, as I did from his brother. I don’t know how others do it, but it’s the only way I’ve ever parented. What I believe in, what I see in them, and their natural inclinations, their readiness. No guarantees. Ever.
Divorce, custody, alimony – it’s very hard on kids. They put up a tough exterior, but they generally are torn. Glad he could get some black and white evidence that let him understand what was really going on.
BLW – Remarkable post. I was moved not only by the courage of your son, but also by the similarity between your story and an incident that took place between Husband and his dad. A time when he had to stand up for his mother and himself. A place when the facts, the black-and-white truth couldn’t be denied. I’ve been thinking so much lately about rates of growth and maturation among our kids. Clearly, your son did a great deal of growing during that one conversation. Thanks for sharing your story with us.
I am sorry that I am a bit late to comment on this. Thank you for sharing this story of ongoing struggle, of inchoate courage, and nascent bravery. How brave of you to ask your son to evaluate your parenting. Only a wonderful, thoughtful parent would utter this question. And how amazing that your son mustered the courage to stand up to a bully he loves. You have taught him gingerly, and well. Life is full of bullies, big and small, lurking and looming and it is so important for us to be able to hold our own, and for us to teach our children to be able to do the same.
Something about this post really strikes me. Yes, it is eloquent as is custom for you. And raw. Very. For some reason, this post in particular is a bit less opaque than others. I am able to glimpse you and your family through these words. I am able to see the pride mixed with pain. Pain that I don’t know the first thing about, but which humbles me. This post makes me feel a bit young and naive and green. I am so sorry that there is a raw and indelible struggle at the center of your family. I hope things change. I hope that you and your fine boys continue to stand up for yourselves and each other.