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| www.sugarbushsquirrel.com (Isn't she adorable??) |
If you’re a parent, like I am, you surrendered any shred of
dignity long ago. Nothing obliterates an ego like running out of Safeway
carrying a screaming toddler with poop oozing out of his pants, or looking up
from a park bench to find your preschooler pointing at you and telling a group
of kids (and their mothers), “That’s my mom, Candy. She is not skinny.”
Thankfully, my days of public mortification are mostly over,
now that my son is eleven and more personally motivated to avoid embarrassing
spectacles. He’s right there, on the cusp of adolescent fear of embarrassment
and annoyance at all things parental, and yet he still snuggles with me every
morning, tells me loves me several times a day, and even sometimes holds my
hand at school (I swear I am not making that up).
Thus, I figure I still have a small window of time when he’ll
listen to whatever I say, no matter how stupid it sounds. In a few years, he’ll
shut me down with one withering “God,
Mom!” and I won’t get to tell him the things I want to tell him. So I try
to get them in now, whenever I can. And that's where most of my dignity-stripping
happens these days, in my attempts to Talk to Him About Important Stuff.
Because I usually end up cringing at how ridiculous I sound and imagining a
panel of parenting experts shaking their heads and muttering “what the hell is
she doing?”
Here’s my latest example. We’re walking to the car one
morning and I notice, as I often do, how handsome my kid is. Before I
can stop myself, I’ve said so out loud. He gives me a look of horror,
and I immediately try to dial down the
mom-gush by switching to lecture mode. “Remember, never use being handsome to
take advantage of others,” I warn sternly.
His look now goes from horrified to confused. He has no idea
what I’m talking about.
This is a teachable moment, right? Never mind that I just
created it by blurting out my inner thoughts, I can use this to do some
Parenting!
“I mean,
don’t use your good looks to manipulate people or take advantage of them. There
will be lots of girls, and guys, who will think you’re handsome.” I shoot
him a sideways look to find he has raised one eyebrow. These things have never occurred to him.
And yet, I press on.
“Just be kind. You don’t have to feel the same way, you can say,
‘Thanks, but I’d prefer to be friends,’ or ‘Thanks, but I’m straight.’”
WAIT.
Is he
straight? Will he think now that I expect him to be straight? I must fix this!
That is,” I add hastily, “if you are straight. Not that you have to figure that out anytime soon.
There’s plenty of time for that. Just that when you do figure it out - ”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m straight,” he tries to
interject.
But I keep talking.
“No matter what, I will love you and welcome you with open
arms. You could be straight, gay, bi, trans, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Hell,
you could come home and say ‘Mom, I love squirrels’ and I’d be fine with that.”
See what I mean? This all started with me trying to tell his
handsome future self not to be a jerk to people who are attracted to him.
How did we get HERE, to inter-species dating?
The raised eyebrow is replaced by a grin, finally, and he
quips, “Yeah. I’ll bring her home for dinner and say ‘Mom, this is Latrina. She
likes nuts and climbing trees.’”
We both burst out laughing and giggle ourselves all the way to
school. The mom-induced awkwardness is gone. “Thank God!” I can hear the panel
of experts exclaim.
And while part of me is still cringing at the entire
conversation, I am mostly proud of us, me and my kid. He figured out how to
meet my mom-weirdness with humor, and I managed to plant (however awkwardly) a
little seed, one that will whisper to him in the moments of doubt ahead, in the
often conflicting struggles for identity and acceptance that fill adolescence.
One that says, simply, “I love you, no matter what. Whoever you chose to be,
whoever you chose to love, you are enough, just as you are.”
And then I hope he treats those he loves the same way.
Especially
Latrina.
