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"SSC3 (NF) All Grown Up"
L82LIFE 5333 desperate attention whore postings
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08-12-03, 05:37 PM (EST)
 
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"SSC3 (NF) All Grown Up" |
The next generation is here. The steady stream of teddy bear covered announcements that fill my mailbox heralds their arrival. They come wearing hand-knit booties and swathed in soft cotton blankets. Seeing them flail their tiny arms and kick out for their independence brings my thoughts around to the last generation of infants that I held in my arms, my own son being among them. It’s been a number of years since those days, yet I still think of him as the child he once was. Now, watching the tiny newborns that have come into my life, I am finally forced to admit that my son is no longer a child. My son has grown up.You would think I would have figured this out years ago, considering the fact that he’s stood 6 inches taller than me for the past 2 years. Sometimes I can be a bit stubborn when my mind is set in denial. Once the fact finally took root in my mind, I didn’t want to believe it. They say that knowledge is power, yet I felt empty with my newfound knowledge. Sometimes a lie is easier to live with than the truth. I was falling quickly into a depression and realized that I had only two alternatives. The first wasn’t very realistic since it included buying out the grocery store’s stock of ice cream, so I settled on my second option and went in search of my treasure box that holds my son’s childhood memories. I knew that surrounded by the items that held the most value to me, I would feel some comfort. While touching the soft lock of brown hair that was saved from his eventful first haircut, holding the baby shoes that he took his first tentative steps in, and reading through his accomplishments in his baby book, I came to the realization that this wasn’t enough for me. I didn’t want to take a stroll down memory lane; I wanted to take up permanent residence there, in a storybook house with a white picket fence. I wanted to relive my son’s childhood, not just dwell in the memories of it. I wanted a do-over. I wanted to hold my son in my arms instead of having to stand on my tiptoes to hug him. I wanted to cuddle him close to my heart when he was hurting instead of watching him stalk off in solitude. I wanted to walk into his first grade class and have him run to put his arms around me instead of having him embarrassed that his Mom was at his school. I wanted to put Band-Aids on his scrapes and gently wipe away his tears instead of having him wipe the blood off with his sleeve and tell me that I’m too overprotective. I wanted to hold onto my memories forever, not to store them in a treasure box that was forgotten amidst the clutter of the closet. I sat there for the longest time, lost in my depression, knowing that my wish could never possibly come true. My son had grown up. Gone were the days of watching him run around the house with a blanket tied around his neck, pretending to be his favorite superhero. Gone were the days of having him want to be constantly at my side. Gone was the eagerness with which he tried so hard to please me. Yes, he was all grown up now. Even worse, he didn’t need me anymore. A shadow filled the room and I looked up to see the object of my depression staring down at me. His glance took everything in at once; my red-rimmed eyes, my despondent expression, and my treasure trove that surrounded me. He said nothing, but gave me a sardonic grin that lit up his mischievous eyes. Then, acting as if nothing was amiss, he handed me over the pages of the fantasy book he was starting to write and asked me to read them. I must admit, fantasy books are not my normal genre of reading material, but he was handing me a life jacket with those pages that I wasn’t about to pass up. I quickly read his lines and soon found my heart feeling lighter. His writing had always been good, but in these pages there was an added sense that I hadn’t seen before. If I had to put a tag to it, I would have called it maturity. And if I had to put a tag to the new emotion I was feeling, I would have called it pride. Suddenly, I no longer wanted my do-over. I didn’t want to dwell in the past; I wanted to celebrate the future. This is what it’s really all about. All the cuddling, coddling, hugs and growing pains that we go through with our children aren’t for our sake, but for theirs. We may enjoy the moments of tenderness that our children give to us, but our real job isn’t to teach our children to love us and need us, our real job is to teach them to become young adults that we can be proud of. I look up at my son and I realize that he is a young man that I can respect. He has become more than my child, he has become my friend, someone that I can discuss a number of topics with and whose views are often enlightening to me. I’ve done my job. I think I'm finally all grown up.
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SaphireLady 2491 desperate attention whore postings
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08-12-03, 07:47 PM (EST)
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2. "RE: SSC3 (NF) All Grown Up" |
You made me cry. So full of emotion. So, I been there too, type of feeling for me. You have captured what all parents feel when their children grow up. Thank you for the pleasure of reading this. You write beautifully.
"Do you know, I always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!" "Well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you." Lewis Carroll; Through the Looking Glass
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Drive My Car 20045 desperate attention whore postings
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08-20-03, 09:37 AM (EST)
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5. "RE: SSC3 (NF) All Grown Up" |
Oh L8, this is so beautiful.
I am crying. So nostalgic and joyful. I wanted to comfort you and hug your son. I actually got up to go Hug my daughter, then remembered it's the first day of School and she has left already.
I'll think of this piece while I serve lunch to my teenagers today, all of them someones grown up Baby. Thank you so much for this, can I print it and save it in my folder of special articles? I'll put your name on it. 
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Wheezy 9153 desperate attention whore postings
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09-13-03, 00:19 AM (EST)
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8. "RE: SSC3 (NF) All Grown Up" |
L8? OMH. This is fantastic.
I think you've taken the thoughts of many mothers and organized them and given them flavor in your words. My oldest is only 9 and I'm right there with you because of the way you wrote it.
Beautiful job.
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