Identikit

I think I am losing him.  We’re seeing less and less of each other lately; our intermittent interactions fleeting, laced with a foregone disappointment, resigned exasperation, and a dank sullenness that is new to us.  And it’s not just him, it’s me, too.  It’s like I’ve given up.  Most days I can barely muster a smile. I’m tired, pushing a mountain that doesn’t seem to move, and I’ve said as much out loud.  He’s not said a word, but I know he feels it too.

This is my son.  The diagnosis:  A raging case of senioritis one week into the school year coupled with a crippling fear of the unknown. Apparently it’s highly contagious, in adults too.

We all want the absolute best for our children.  We think we can somehow prescribe and dictate how they go about finding the best. Yes, we know our real value is in marshaling the patience to steer and guide as they painstakingly work their way out of the cocoon, but they never seem to act  quickly or decisively enough for us. Even those of us who are firmly anchored in the belief that our kids should be their own people can’t resist the temptation to foreshadow apathy’s consequences. The message comes out in an angry outburst or a panicky wail. Of course our good intentions backfire egregiously.

 

This masquerade is the search for courage to stand on your own and take those first steps toward making your way in this world.  Why is it so hard to watch those we love in this state of suspension?

We believe we’ve got the tincture to make a natural, yet difficult process easier.  We want our children to love the taste of our medicine, to eagerly swallow our hard-earned hindsight, recognizing it as an incredible gift of foresight and apply it to their own lives.  In this way we believe we can shield them from the pain we’ve all felt moving through the awkward and challenging places in life. The thing we forget is that most medicine tastes bad, and if you need to take it there must be something wrong with you.

Are we asking our adolescents to forego a natural rite of passage they are wired to walk through and take our short cut instead?  I think so.  I think our reflex to intercede sometimes hampers and confuses them.  We inadvertently send a message that we are certain they will fall or are broken and in need of fixing. This can shake an already wobbly confidence. We do know they’ll stumble; some may fall badly. But the butterfly just isn’t the same when someone on the outside starts messing with the cocoon.  What if we were simply there to bandage the battle wounds or kiss away the pain?

Because the bottom line is they need this experience. This is only one of many new beginnings in life.  Isn’t finding the courage to follow our passions breaking out of a cocoon of sorts?  Life is always presenting situations where we need to stand on our own on a new and intimidating stage.  It can be a job or a position on an unfamiliar team, or a relationship with someone new. To be happy and successful in these arenas, we need to trust that others will appreciate our unique selves and proudly become known.

Margaret Fuller, a 19^th century women’s rights advocate, says “There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly.”  We all work really hard, teenagers especially; galvanizing ourselves as a way to please and meet the expectations we believe others have of us.  The problem with this is that trapped inside ourselves we feel powerless, unable to act as we’d like, and no one gets a glimpse at the real beauty inside.

 

What our kids don’t know is that as their mothers, we’ve never seen anything except that beautiful butterfly, since first looking into their caterpillar eyes, all the way through watching them spin and encase themselves in their impenetrable cocoons.  When my friend Sara receives a phone call from her teenager, his baby photo appears on her screen; a reminder to take the call from the place where their relationship began; the home of an unfathomable love.

I wrote in my very first blog post that “the bond between mother and child is impermeable, indelible, infused.”  And this I believe is what makes standing outside the cocoon feel so helpless. We know the exquisite beauty that’s inside.  We’re keenly aware power to change the world lives there. We want nothing more than to break down the walls so everyone can know and experience this wonderful person.

We find the need time and time again over the course of a lifetime to coax the butterfly out of the cocoon. We all need the courage to let ourselves been seen. To do this we first need to believe the beauty is inside. So maybe this is how I find my way back to my boy.  

I miss him.