Pens, pencils, textbooks. The computer. Dirty dishes.
It’s all heaped on the edge of the couch and the small ottoman next to his long limbs. He’s twisted up in an old comforter, and out cold.
I touch his arm and he opens his eyes. “I don’t need to print this morning,” he murmurs, and turns over.
The lights are still on. He’s fully dressed. I’m certain he was up until three or four and waking him is the last thing I want to do, and exactly what I must do. “Ten more minutes,” I say.
His face, when he sleeps, is still the child’s.
I’m a stickler for the right term if I’m not too weary to unearth it. Our choice of words frames our reality. And I tell myself: My son is going through a rough time, but not a bad one.
The business of parenting
I sip my first strong cup of coffee as I open the fridge and remove the usual: turkey, muenster cheese, mayo, and whatever bread I found on special this week.
I begin the business of making his sandwiches as I’ve done for years. Mechanically. Mindlessly.
I wrap them, bag them, then return to the couch a second time, and a minute later, a third. He stirs, and on the fourth attempt to wake him – a kiss on the cheek – he sits up, stares blankly, and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Did you get it all done?” I ask, and he says “nearly” and heads to the bathroom. I know his body language, and my chest aches at the sight of his exhaustion.
Building dreams
My 17-year old is carrying an onerous load, but not an impossible one. It requires constant choices that are hard for him to make.
He is experiencing the consequences of two rigorous programs simultaneously – one in academics, and the other in the arts. It’s unusual for a student to be pursuing both, which is the heart of the problem. And his heart lies in the arts – and he hasn’t learned to compromise the work of his heart for the other interests that also tug at him.
I am conflicted for him; proud of the nature that creates with such passion, while trying to teach him the skills and necessity of prioritizing.
He is working through his choices. Living the weight of what he’s trying to accomplish. Hoping for a shot at building his dreams – literally.
Semantic issues, a tough job
Semantics enable us to clarify intention, observation, and understanding. We select our words to take advantage of nuance. But making meaning is a tough job.
My own mind is fuzzier than I care to admit, and wanders back to the days of divorcing, to what I wish I had known and never imagined, to the assumptions I made and no reason to do otherwise, to the slow path of acceptance that my concept of right and wrong was neither shared nor enforceable. And here I am.
Here we are.
It’s been a long, arduous road. Terrifying at times. And glorious.
Perseverance
My son emerges from the bathroom and he loads his backpack. He takes a few bites of the breakfast I’ve set on the table. He apologizes for not finishing his food.
I smile. He’s so polite.
He sits quietly beside me as I drive, and I know that silence is the better path for both of us. Before I let him off at the door, I tell him to call if he needs something, and he nods.
“You’re so close,” I say.
“I know,” he answers.
Growth
These days the register of his voice startles me. It is a man’s voice. These days his willingness to converse is a welcome development. He solicits my opinion, rather than tolerating it.
His focus impresses me. His humor reassures me. His fatigue concerns me. But then, I’m not much of an example in that regard. We both have goals that are far from frivolous, and a marathon to run. I was running it alone for years. Now, we’re running it together.
The best thing I’ve ever done
When my 17-year old came home from his summer – his very tough academic program – he said “This is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I struggle with a bigger picture than he possesses, naturally. I am also processing the imminent reality of empty nest, and genuine turmoil faced with the blank canvas that lies ahead. I am working through fatigue of my own, and learning of my own. I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, relieved that the burdens I’ve shouldered will ease, though they will not disappear.
We are each confronting significant challenges, but not unmanageable ones. There will be disappointments. There will be victories. It’s been a grueling decade for me; I cannot hide it even if I try. Yet when it comes to parenting my boys, general terms rather than specific seem to say it all: It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.
If you’ve instilled anything in your boys, it’s a work ethic. So many kids his age wouldn’t be willing to work so hard to achieve their goals. You should be very proud. And when he’s finally finished with all this you should put him to bed for a 3- or 4-day nap!
He’s an awesome napper. But yes, he needs those 3 or 4 days!
I’m on my lunch break at work reading this and I’m all teary. So beautiful. Sounds like you have done an amazing job with your son. Blessings on your ongoing journey.
What a lovely thing to say, Tessa. Thank you. And welcome.
It sounds as if he is working and learning and having to make choices that are challenging to make (as him) and to watch (as a parent.) The choices that only he can make and that will, in some way, define his future. And he sounds so tired…
That much closer…
Yes, TE. You’re right. Only he can make them, but I can influence them, still. And perhaps he is conflicted because I am, as well. He knows his passions – but he must do well in everything academically in order to study all the things that interest him, and to have more options for scholarships. To pursue art and architecture, but to attend a school where he can also study lit and econ and history and other subjects he finds interesting, and that make him well-rounded. Not an easy road. He’s a great kid. And it’s tough going right now.
I hope he can see – or at least sense – the light at the end of the tunnel. Yes, these are incredibly demanding days. But it will get better. He will get some much-deserved reprieve. And, by necessity, he will learn tricks of time management and prioritization.
And this theme of semantics? It’s so true – I’m so glad you can see the fine distinctions in your life. It is difficult but not unmanageable. We are exhausted but capable. (Or the classic, do I *need* this or *want* it?)
Hang in there, both of you!!
My daughter is a sophomore and I know that these next couple of years will go by at a frenetic pace. As she stresses about homework, projects and upcoming college tours, I sometimes think, “what would BLW say, or do to assist her with this stress?” Your posts teach me daily and guide me through these teenage years. 🙂
Linda this is so kind of you to say. The pace does ratchet up considerably with Junior Year. I think the greatest challenge is to teach planning and time management skills to our kids, because it’s workload in some programs, at least as much as subject matter.
As for the stress? Believe it or not – even now – my kid still gets “kid time.” Almost without exception, he goes out at least one weekend night/week, or has friends here, even if it’s low-key. I believe they have to have it. Time to unwind – even if only a few hours. (As for any other parental advice? I figure it out as I go! ;))
It’s telling that you are aware of this journey that you and your son are taking. Sounds as if your son really wants to pursue both interests and is working very hard at it. Nothing wrong with good old fashioned work ethic. Kudos to you for being a role model and showing him how to perservere.
And what a humbling example you set. This piece is just so FULL. He’s lucky to have you and clearly he’s learning from you. He’s going to do great things! Be proud of this foundation he’s laying. I’m certain you are. 🙂
And I”m lucky to have him, Christine. 🙂
“His face, when he sleeps, is still the child’s”…
Is it still? I feel the same way about my 6 year old daughter’s sleeping face…and when she purses her lips I still see the newborn sucking on her bottle. I wonder if it will always be that way.
Don’t all mothers see something of their little ones, at any age? (If it’s entirely illusion, I’ll keep it!)
Every time I read a story about your sons – your relationship with them, I am in awe. I hope I end up being such a great mom to my own children.
I don’t even know what to say in reply to this beautiful post. Your son is lucky to have you, and your are lucky to have him.
You have much to be proud of in your self and your son. You parent with so much love, it comes through so strong in your writing. You are a hero!
Thank you, Mark. What a kind thing to say, and I appreciate it. I have also been very fortunate when it comes to my sons. They’re pretty incredible kids. That makes it easier.
This is moving, and so hopeful – “glorious” stood out as though it had a halo, and then reading “the best thing I’ve ever done” from each of you. The most exciting part might be that your son will probably say that many more times.