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As we stepped out of the college bookstore, my 17-year-old son, Lucas, was visibly frustrated. “I’m so hot! Where on earth is Dad?” he exclaimed, scanning the area for my husband, who had seemingly wandered off.
“Didn’t you notice him?” I asked gently, mindful of the emotional turmoil he was going through.
“No, I didn’t!” he snapped back, “This heat is unbearable!”
“Why don’t you step outside for a moment to cool down, sweetheart?” I suggested, trying to keep my voice soothing. We were just two days into our campus visit, and he was already feeling overwhelmed.
“No, I don’t want to,” he shot back, clearly irritated. Of course, I understood his reluctance. Lucas had always been a firecracker, ever since he was little.
Against my better judgment, my maternal instincts kicked in, and I felt compelled to impart some wisdom. “I just want you to learn to manage minor annoyances and focus on the positives. We’re visiting your dream school, and we just had a great tour. Plus, we bought you some cool merchandise.” I couldn’t help but add, “Your dad and I are making sacrifices for you to attend here, so a little gratitude would be nice.”
Silence enveloped us. My last comment seemed to hit a nerve. Lucas was my passionate child, the one whom his preschool director had predicted would lead the community if he could just channel his energy positively.
“Well, when it gets hot for you in a store, you always say, ‘OMG, I need to get out of here!’ How is that different from my complaining?” he challenged.
Unfortunately, I fell into his trap. “Okay, so I had a hot flash in the bookstore, but you didn’t hear me whining about it, did you?” I retorted defensively, recognizing our similar temperaments.
At that moment, my husband, always the peacemaker, attempted to defend me. “Your mother’s situation is a bit different…” he started.
“How?!” Lucas interjected sarcastically. “Really, how?!” He went on to argue that I let little things bother me just as much as he did. He was right; we were alike in many ways. Maybe that was why I reacted so strongly during our arguments.
I had always been a bit of a pessimist, allowing trivial matters to bother me when I was younger. Yet, as I grew up, I made a conscious effort to adopt a more positive outlook. I knew Lucas hadn’t made the same strides, and I felt partly responsible for that. After all, I had created an environment where he expected everything to be perfect. As the younger sibling, I had catered to his every whim: if he didn’t want to eat what his older brother enjoyed, I’d whip up something special; if he preferred cold water over warm, that was fine by me.
I made my boys the center of my universe, a privilege I hadn’t experienced growing up due to my family’s struggles with addiction and mental illness. I was determined to give them everything I could, but I worried that I had gone too far. I often prepared his favorite microwave meals, even when I knew he could handle more substantial dishes. I advocated for him to attend an out-of-state college, despite our family’s agreement to keep things local for economic reasons.
“Look, buddy, I just wish you had some strategies to handle little annoyances better,” I said as we left the store, feeling flushed from another hot flash. The refreshing breeze was a welcome relief.
“Oh, okay,” he replied, always one to keep his responses concise. “Sometimes you just annoy me.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you annoy me too,” I chuckled lightly, hoping to ease the tension. “That’s what family is about; we can irritate each other, but we still love one another.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, somewhat distracted.
As we made our way to the field house, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and reflected on why I felt so uneasy. It struck me—unlike his older brother, Lucas didn’t seem to enjoy spending time with us. He was clearly cherishing his independence, choosing a school that was a significant distance away from home. Was this intentional? What if he chose to stay there forever? My greatest fears were manifesting as I contemplated letting him go.
But that’s life, isn’t it? You do all you can for your children and then let them fly. It doesn’t mean it’s easy or what you signed up for, but you keep moving forward and hope that one day, they’ll return to you.
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In summary, letting go of your child as they eagerly embrace their independence can be a daunting experience for any parent. It’s a balancing act between nurturing them and allowing them to grow. As they step into their futures, it’s essential to hold onto hope, knowing that love will always bind you together, regardless of the distance.