One Sunday Morning

In a recent conversation with a friend, I made mention of the fact that my son Christopher will be 18 years old in a couple weeks. I always affectionately refer to that as the "kick Christopher out of my house" day - not so much for the fact that I want to kick him out of my house, but that I want him to grow and be influenced in the ways that only firsthand life experiences can teach a person. I myself left home shortly after I turned 18, and the world was a completely different place than living at home with my parents. More challenging. More unpredictable. But with it came the freedom of choice; the control to make my own decisions - for better or for worse - and in those "for worse" instances I experienced the biggest growth moments. This is what I hope for my son - because in having those experiences he will be tested and shaped into the man he is destined to become.

I talk a good "strict parent" game, but in truth I attempt to give Christopher as much freedom as possible. I don't want to be so controlling of his environment that I limit his ability to develop friendships, to have some fun once in a while... so what invariably happens is I find myself very frustrated that he doesn't comply with my wishes (i.e. chores, homework, etc.) but still manages to obtain the reward. When I read that statement back, the first thought that pops into my head is this: Shirley, that's because you aren't a very good parent. And I readily recognize this fact. I have friends who have children - sometimes they aren't even THEIR children! but by virtue of relationship they have to deal with them; as in, boyfriend's children from a previous relationship - that make it appear so easy and effortless, I feel doubly guilty that I either missed out on the "good parenting skills" gene, or it was so under-developed that it's completely useless now.

Christopher has gotten in the bad habit lately to be very vague in his whereabouts. It's all "I'm going to the park to hang out with my friends, Mom," or "I'll be back before dark, Mom," and because I feel powerless to lay down any concrete laws, I respond, "Okay. Have fun." So this was the set-up to this morning's situation: last night after dinner - we did have dinner together, my son and I - Christopher informed me that he was going to "so-n-so's house for a birthday party" and that he would be getting a ride home from whoever. Fighting my immediate urge to yell, "No, you CAN'T!" I merely said, "It's kind of late to be going out, isn't it?" But in the end Christopher left to go to the party, and I eventually went to sleep, knowing he could get in through the garage when "whoever" brought him home.

Fast forward to Sunday morning (today). Intending to go to church - I attend a lot of church on Sundays, mostly because of my choir involvement - I took a shower, got dressed, heated up my coffee from the day before... then I checked the garage door that opens up into the kitchen. Unlocked. Normally what is supposed to happen is Christopher comes in through the garage, then locks this door (which prevents anyone from breaking into our house through the garage). So I go to his bedroom and poke my head in.

He's not in his room.

For the next hour or so I text all of his friends (and their mothers) I have numbers for; trying to find out about the party, if anyone has seen Christopher (after texting and calling his cellphone and getting no answer).. finally, FINALLY, I get a text from an unrecognizeable number from my son, telling me that "he accidently fell asleep" at his friend's house. I told him to call me, and when he did I got the address of the friend's house and went immediately to pick him up. I couldn't say anything to him on the drive home, but Christopher knew I was pissed off.

We get home; Christopher scurries off to his room, and I go and text everyone I had contacted earlier (including his dad) to let them know I had found him. Then I called him out to the front room.

I am hoping that with this conversation, Christopher has a new understanding for what it's like for me, having lost the Bunny, to wake up and find out "my son didn't come home last night." I told Christopher that he is my only son, and I am his only mom... and I needed him to realize that I need him to help, because I feel so alone a lot of the time; I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Falling asleep at his friend's house wasn't a big deal to him - but it had a significant impact on me - very much like throwing vinegar into an open wound just to see the injured person writhe in pain and agony. I know he didn't intend it, but I had to open his eyes to the fact that if he isn't able to help me, for God's sake! Don't make me hurt worse.

The last thing I told Christoper is that I hoped he would never have to go through the experience of having someone he loved not come home one day, because as far as experiences go, that one really sucks. In this instance, I am hoping that Christopher can grow vicariously through MY experience - to realize how a person's actions influence those around him or her, that nobody lives in a vacuum.

And I wait for my own growth moment. But I'm guessing I have to get rid of the concrete first.