I was getting into my car for work a few mornings ago when another car pulled into my driveway. It was my oldest son’s carpool ride. I waved and proceeded to put my bag in the backseat. The mom who was driving leaped out of her car and ran up to me. This woman is typically animated, but she was particularly intense on this day. Tearful and distraught, she leaned in close to my face and began speaking:
“It hit me this weekend,” she said. “They are leaving. They are both going away. I can’t imagine how it will be without them. I can’t stop crying. Has it hit you yet? I haven’t stopped crying since Saturday. My baby is going to college. We are losing them. I am beside myself. I can’t stop crying. Has it hit you yet? I am just crying all the time …”
I made an awkward attempt at banter. “I suppose I have been too busy to really think about it.” The words sounded smug and uncaring. Not sure what to do, I just hugged her, agreeing how much we will miss them. I watched as she drove away with my son and her son and the few random neighborhood children who won’t ride the bus. Sitting in my car a moment later, I felt my eyes to see if I had any sympathetic mother tears. Dry as a bone. Fearing I was a cold-hearted bitch, I conducted an internal interview: Had it hit me yet that my son is going to college? Considering that I had spent the past year driving him to visits, brainstorming essay prompts, editing, encouraging filing systems, making him tea in the middle of deadline nights, and endlessly discussing options to the extent and energy of a second job, yes, I felt pretty clear on the concept. Was I beside myself with emotion? Not yet. Was I going to be? Not sure. It was a rather inconclusive dialogue.
This is not the first time that my reactions to this motherhood business have veered from the way I imagined, or the way I imagined others would prescribe.
It started when I was pregnant with this same college bound child. I had assumed that carrying a gestating embryo would be like participating in a craft project with God. He might mix the media but I would be in charge of gluing on the tiny ears or shading in the little pink cheeks. I figured I would be connected somehow, that I would know what and how and when the creative process was happening. But I quickly became disillusioned. I was not the prenatal version of Martha Stewart. I felt acted upon, shut out, too fat, too unwieldy and it took entirely too long to make the thing. I could have sewn five quilts in the time it took to make one baby.
As the delivery approached I thought: Now is my chance. I will utilize all my Skinnerian Behaviorally Modified Wisdom to write the best script on this blank slate. I will transform “nurture” into an art, gluing on the perfect personality and shading in the sunniest disposition. Wrong again. From the first cry, it was apparent that our genetic lottery had lined up a set of ping pong balls and he was going to be anyone’s lucky guess. Athena had sprung from the collective skull of multiple generations reaching back two family lines. I could see brothers and aunts and grandparents and great, great cousin Giuseppe in his infant expressions. My baby was who he was. I remembered that Skinner was the guy who kept his kid in a box and I moved on to other theories.
Unlike the woes of pregnancy, this newest realization caused me to react with relief and respect. I was not going to build this person from Legos; he came to the party with a significant self in place. He seemed, from the moment we looked at each other, a creature who would unfold into a truly extraordinary human being. I saw in his munched up face an equal, only small. I knew my role would be to keep him safe and cuddled for a few years. I also knew that this wasn’t going to be enough. We – he – needed other people and other people needed him. We had a sense, ironically unspoken, that it would take many voices to tend his one voice; that his singular potential hinged on his connection to a chorus. I wanted him surrounded by people engaged in lives that were rich and complicated and steeped in values of inquiry, culture, acceptance, love, awareness of others, self-reflection, consciousness, food, communal joy and pain. His brilliant father was immersed from the start. My adoring sister was cooing at him from two weeks old. His subsequent brother brought challenge and alliance. From there we looked to the village.
Parenting, for me, is more about matchmaking than mentoring. We invite amazing people into our children’s lives as friends and teachers and as examples of people living their lives in an integral way. We chat with our kids about their own emerging interests and choices. We discuss the million different ways of being and how different people find their ways. We sort, we narrate, we process. They eventually turn to those same amazing people, with whom they have now developed relationships, and ask their own questions. We hope that over time and conversations, our children will discern how their unique set of gifts and demons can bring meaningful change and contribution to the world.
Many people in TGW community have been part of our parenting. Bryan and Stephanie spent every Saturday night for years curled up on the sofa reading and watching videos with a tangle of merged kids at their feet. A few years later, half the writers on this site were at a large Thanksgiving dinner and this same son memorized everyone’s name, interviewed most of the guests as to their ages, partners and occupations, determined that exactly 14 people were gay and lesbian/19 people were straight and observed who ate Bryan’s Brussels sprouts (and who didn’t). This past year, upon finding that one of his school trips would take place in the city where Farrell and Trixie live, he made (rather byzantine) arrangements with the administration to get permission to visit them. He had only seen them a handful of times before, but as an almost adult, he is now making choices as to whom he identifies with and who intrigues him. He is reaching out on his own. This is more profound to me than all of his grades and scores combined.
I suppose it is not surprising that as we contemplate sending this child to a college not unlike the community enjoying Thanksgiving dinner so long ago, it is hard for me to get too worked up. I will miss him every day as a friend and a person who lives in my house. But our nest has always been a smattering of twigs and shiny objects. The sides are just a few stanchions, easily moved aside to allow for people coming and going. Why would I ever define it as full or empty? I remember watching my son play as a toddler and seeing the man he would become just behind his eyes, in the cast of his cheekbone, in the tone of his voice. I have always viewed this concentrated time with him as temporary. Now our real relationship, his real story, begins.
Perhaps it has hit me. And he, and I, will be just fine.
And we could use a North Star correspondent.
And as we all know . . .
Your son is a Star.
Sweet.
The other day I watched a mother berate her (maybe five year old) daughter to the point of tears, only to yell at her for being such a crybaby. The worst part was watching the child try to hide that she was crying from her mother. She clearly wasn’t doing it for attention, but because she was scared, shaken-up, and her feelings were hurt. It was so upsetting to watch, and of course I had the fantasies of saying something to the mother, but I also knew that it would accomplish nothing, so I stayed lock-jawed.
I am also aware that the mother was probably acting out part of a cycle. It’s likely that her mother treated her in precisely the same way. I thought, “thank you for bringing another fucked up person into this already lousy world.”
PB, you make is sound so simple, but on behalf of the rest of humanity, thanks for taking part in making someone who sounds like a really wonderful person. The world needs it.
And that goes for the rest of you Whatsit parents as well.
P,
It sounds like you and your husband have tried hard to bring balance not only to your lives, but your sons lives as well. Kudos.
My son just went to France, Italy, and Monaco for a couple of weeks. It felt strange knowing that he was so far away that I couldn’t “rescue” him, and the trip also became what he termed a “life changing” experience. While he was away, I realized that I’m too hoovering (for his age and maturing, and will back off even more…
I liked your concluding line, yes you (both) will be fine…
Lovely essay. It’s so true that kids arrive with their genetic programming. Lane and I look at each other sometimes and say, shit, he’s just like us! We should have adopted. It’s exciting, sometimes terrifying, to see the family cocktail in our little boy.
It’s hard to find friends with children the same age as your own. You were very lucky. We love meeting interesting couples with a kid or two around 4. My neighbor is always uttering that takes-a-village phrase as Lane takes Jasper and her daughter out to the playground or when she takes the kids to the pool. I wonder if it’s the same in the suburbs, but many of us urban families with one child (living far from grandparents, aunts, uncles) really rely on each other as extended family.
You’re so cool and calm. I’m sure 14 years from now I’ll be like your friend, weeping at the empty nest. Balance? Nope, not here! That’s not how I work — but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I remember, only to well, the excitement and the mixed feelings of seeing my
only daughter leaving home with her older brother and his bride , travelling a
thousand miles to begin her freshman year of college. Little did I know and
a good thing I didn’t, that she would never return home to live. That boy
from Snowflake eventually won her heart and her future. Do I miss her?
Every day. Do I wish she lived by me? Always. Would I change her life
choices if I could? Not on your life. ms
PB,
our visit from your extraordinary son was a bright spot in our year. we were so thrilled and flattered that he sought us out in the manner that he did- and the conversation that we had with him over milk and cookies in our kitchen in the hours after we had put our own son to bed was one of the most enjoyable ones in recent memory.
i can imagine no greater gift as a parent than knowing that my child will make his way thoughtfully and gracefully through this world. your boy certainly will. and sending him off to start that adventure as an adult seems to me nothing but thrilling and joyful. (this coming from the parent of a 3 year old–aka, i have no fucking clue what i am talking about).
anyway, congratulations.
and we love you, A!! congrats on the admission! you rock!!
xo
trixie and co.
That boy
from Snowflake eventually won her heart and her future.
w00t! rock on, marlene! the kid in the knit rasta cap rules!
P — my only regret is that your kid isn’t coming to my school. the real lesson has to do with how much he — and his peers — have taught me, either by being old wise souls or little shits. I should remind long-time readers that said kid has been written about and even quoted here.
and as for you, little man-child lurker son of PB’s, the kid i used to call sascha, congrats on a fine showing for your college apps. you and your sibling and parents are models for the rest of us.
and P — i also categorize dinner guests based on who eats the sprouts! damn heathens who won’t branch out!
I love the stories and different perspectives of both parenting and parent/ child dynamics – both observed and experienced. I am rather sheepish at the implication that MB and I have it all figured out – AB was a dry run, the one we got coming down the pike is going to kick our ass. But both are really cool people. I consider myself having scored the lottery jackpot. I am also grateful that we are all students in this together, whether sorting out our own upbringing or giving a hand to the next crop.
And Bryan, I love you, I admire your culinary explorations, but no mutant cabbage embryos for me. I am remain resolutely a heathen.
I am remain resolutely a heathen.
Is this to be read in LOL cats voice?
I am remain resolutely a heathen.
I have many voices in my head, many of them talk at the same time, hence the extra words.
What is can who I say?
And yes, as long as the cat sounds like Kathleen Turner.
AW is a great kid and congrats to him on college. Thanks, PB for reflections on your life which get us all thinking about our own.
And thanks to Marlene for one of the sweetest comments I’ve seen come around these parts in a long time. In the spirit of PB’s post–and as someone who was blessed by the path your daughter’s life took– I’m grateful for what she must have gotten in your home and also for the way you let her go.
Should be AB
Pandora: Beautiful, as always, and I only wish your son were going to be my student.
Trix: Scott and I look forward to a similar visit from Golden in a few years. We will do him just right. (That’s what she said!)
our brood is only four and yet i can’t fathom “letting them go” with such grace; this was both an inspiration and a challenge. thanks.
hey, your kid’s school is the alma mater of our very own WW. (where has she been, by the way?). also, kids in college. i can’t even imagine. wonderful post.
swells: that sounds great. except we plan on living next door to you two by then, so it won’t be such a big trip really.
Hey, I just wanted to chime in with the congratulations. Last fall, when we were all sitting in that North Shore pancake house talking about colleges, it was mostly anxiety and wide-open possibility. Now the real excitement begins! PB and MB, you are lucky to have such amazing kids, but they are equally lucky to have you–and the rest of us get to be lucky many times over.
p.s. Madison is on the way there…I’m just sayin’.
that’s really funny about WW, great legacy.
Pandora,
First off, I am still trying to comprehend that AB will be in college… I still think of him as a 10 year old with better verbal skills than half of the grad students I knew! (Carleton is a great school…) I am venturing into the teen waters that you are immersed in. Katie is 12 and trying to find out who she is and how to navigate her way around. I can relate to the “matchmaking” parenting idea as Dave and I are trying to connect her with peers and adults who will allow her to be herself comfortably and expose her to the best of what life has to offer. We find that, at times, we need to do some “deprogramming” as others tell her how life, the universe and everything is supposed to be. Any insight into how to keep the boat from overturning during the next few years would be welcome…
On another topic… I mention this virtually every year in our Christmas letter– I cannot thank you enough for that first quilting lesson those many years ago. I am an obsessed, guild attending, fabric collecting, constantly sewing, quilt junkie.
My parents raised my sibs and I to cherish the friendships of the adults around us. As a result, when I was growing up I had many “mothers”. Cherished women who helped mold and shape me. And while I have always thought of you as a long lost sister, I often long for you to be my mother. I loved every word of this post. For someone who has never really thought of being a mother, reading this, and knowing you, I find some solace that if I were to become a mother, you would always be there for me. And hopefully you would cure me of my overly excessive use of commas. Congratulations on the first birdy to leave the nest. How exciting!