Alex was born six days before my birthday. In 2001 we both
celebrated monumental birthdays, he turned sixteen and received his driver’s
license and I turned fifty and received my AARP card. Standing in line waiting
for his driver's test, a sense of fear shot through me, having wheels meant
that from this day forward I would be seeing a lot more of his tail lights and
a lot less of him. A child of sixteen does just as much aging as a woman of fifty,
but with a sense of anticipation rather than dread. In the gloom of recognizing
that he would be off to some other place than home, and that he had the ability
to get himself there, I redoubled my determination to create memories for the
both of us. Our next vacation would be a doozie.
I started with pen on a used envelope and listed the things
I needed to make a successful and comfortable trip for me. I wanted to be able
to afford it without stretching my credit cards. It was just after September 11 - needing to
feel safe was high on my list. Still within the eighteen year parenting
contract to become a fully functioning adult, I wanted this trip to fulfill a
few of the remaining skills and competencies necessary for him to navigate the world on his own… though, I was fully
aware of the year-to-year renewable clause throughout the college years yet to
be negotiated. And, top of the list, I wanted the trip to be fun… for both of
us.
Once I completed my list, I invited Alex to go with me to
France. He eagerly RSVPd and told me that he wanted to try out the French that he'd
been taking for four years, see the South of France with the lavender fields,
the nude beaches of the Mediterranean and he'd like to get to the Paris flea
markets to shop for second hand Euro clothes.
We flew to Frankfurt then to Nice using my frequent flyer
miles. While the idea of going captured
him, the process of traveling hadn't sunk in. I worried that when we arrive, he'd
find it boring. On the flight from Germany to Southern France, Alex set down
his video game and cracked a travel book. Until that moment, I may as well have
traveled alone with the minimal conversation. Something kicked in and I found a
new worry: I didn't have the energy to do all the things he listed.
I was 5'2 with extra fleshy baggage traveling with a kid nearly
6'3, varsity all conference in track. He ran for fun! He turned down desert!
For him, people-watching was not a sport!
I was about to spend nearly every minute of the next thirteen days with
a boy-man with a revved metabolism and whose current function in life was to
learn to separate from me. What was I thinking?
We missed our connection due to weather, lost our luggage
and I realized when we finally arrived at the hotel that I really hadn't thought
through this trip either. I was dead tired with the time change and he asked, "Mom,
should we go swimming first or get to the market before it closes?" We
were not of the same biological clock or physical make-up. This was going to be
a challenge.
I am proud first and embarrassed to realize that my sixteen
year old was far less whiny and a lot more open to travel challenges than
me. All through his childhood I let Alex make
decisions and live by their natural consequences. However, though I talked like
I believed the parenting books on this, when he chose things I wouldn’t in the
same situation, I found it challenging. Over and over again I magnanimously asked
Alex which way we should go, he always, every-single-time, chose the opposite
way from the one I would have selected. I found myself angry at him for
choosing differently than me. Over and over again I made him rationalize his
decisions and repeatedly, I found his thinking sound. We would end up where we wanted to go. Before
the end of the first week, I realized I learned to trust his thinking, I
stopped second guessing him and I relied on his input.
Alex donned the life of Southern France the day we arrived. Knowing
dinner was an event, he insisted we resist eating at six and not start out till
after nine p.m. He dressed for dinner, well, he put on a shirt with a collar, wore
pants without denim and shoes without rubber. As our trip went on, I noticed that Alex began
looking, say, Bohemian. He bought tight jeans in the market (a wish fulfilled),
brushed his hair up rather than hanging bangs and nudged a goatee. Halfway
through the trip, ticket takers at the Pompidou Museum and Versailles requested
his identification to allow the eighteen and under price. A couple days later, relaxed,
sitting on the deck after climbing the 263 steps to the first level of the
Eiffel Tower, I stared with soft eyes across the miles of views till I focused
on Alex. I found his face - the face of his adult… the face his dad and I imagined
while reading “What to Expect When Your’re Expecting”. I found his dad's grin
and my eyes.
Alex and I lived together then, with our dog and two cats. We
lived lives that intersected and sometimes overlapped and sometimes not. I made
lunches, made sure he arrived at places on time, cajoled or nagged him –
whatever it took to get his chores done, talked to his teachers, got him to
family events and his dad's home, kissed him when he was receptive and cheered for him at track meets. He did
the things he was supposed to do, he worked hard at school, his chores got done
- eventually, and, every once in a while, he surprised me by asking about my
day.
We spent fewer than three hours apart over thirteen days in
France. While the trip began
as an adventure and to create memories, it turned out to be a passage and
created a future. I witnessed
solid thinking and integrity. I felt his protection, experienced his
physical strength and marveled at his endurance. And, there in the heights of
the Eiffel tower I found his face and concrete evidence of a man emerging.
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