The gift

Now that Mark's firmly ensconced in his teen age years, his conversational skills haven't just diminished, they've completely stopped. Oh sure, he's talkative when it comes to something he wants  but for everything else, getting him to answer a question is akin to prying a donut out of his hand. It just ain't gonna happen.

I've spent this year re-phrasing the question "How was your day?" to elicit any answer other than "Fine." I've inquired about school projects, friends, the best thing that happened that day. I've asked about sports, current events, skateboards, Fixie bikes and Christmas lists. I've asked every open-ended question I could think of, and I was met with the same answer for each one: a stony silence, followed by a shrug and, "I dunno."

So I gave up. Mark doesn't talk unless he wants to, so I tried to let the conversations occur organically. Nothing happened, except that I spent my dinner times in my own head, wishing for things like dinner conversation, world peace and a private chef--hey, they all have an equal likelihood of coming true.

And then something weird happened. Mark began talking. All on his own. Without any poking or prodding, without any pointed questions. He just started talking.

It had nothing to do with my bazillion questions. In fact, it had nothing to me at all. I simply told Mark I needed some exercise, and was going for a walk after dinner.

I invited him along. I figured he'd decline, opting to stay inside the warm house. But he surprised me and said yes, and off into the dark night air we went.

I was quiet. I'd exhausted all my questions during dinner.

But as we walked, Mark opened up.

"Watch your step," he said, pointing out a high curb.

"Thanks," I answered. I'd almost tripped over it.

"Car," he said at the next corner, putting his arm up protectively so I didn't step into the street.

"Thanks again," I said.

"We had a substitute teacher yesterday in math," he said on the next block. "He was one of my counselors from summer camp."

"That's cool!" I said.

"Yeah, he's a good guy," Mark told me. "He looked waaaaay different than at camp. He was dressed up all nice, and I had to call him Mr., instead of just by his first name. He seemed kinda nervous."

We walked on for another block in silence.

"Step," Mark said again, pointing the flashlight at a busted-up chunk of sidewalk.

We passed a house completely decorated in Christmas lights. A holiday soundtrack was playing, and the lights flashed on and off in sync with the music.

We stopped to watch, and as we stood there watching, Mark said, "I got to conduct the orchestra today."

"You were the conductor?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep," he said. "We had a substitute teacher, and she didn't know how to conduct, so she let us do it. The other kids were out of time, but not me. I did it perfect!"

He started waving his right arm up and down in the air.

"One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!" he said, with great flourish, as the lights flashed off and on in time with his arm.

I smiled, watching my little man conduct the Christmas lights and music.

"I was really good at it," he admitted.

"I bet you were," I said, tousling his hair. "You're the drummer, you have great rhythm."

As we continued our walk, he told me about trying out for the basketball team, his new video game, and how he was worried about an upcoming math test. He talked about his friend Sean, who lost his iTouch when his house, and how bad he felt for Sean. He talked about an upcoming high school fair and admitted he was a little nervous about starting high school.

It was amazing. This was the conversation I was always trying to start at dinner--but I got it all wrong. Mark is a boy, and boys hate pointed conversations. He felt trapped at the dinner table, I realized. Instead of just letting him eat, I was always firing questions at him nonstop, and he felt trapped. But out here, walking around, he felt safe. I focused on traffic and not falling and that took all the pressure off conversation.

It was so cool. I got to know my boy better that night than I had in a month's worth of dinners. I realized that when I shut my mouth, he opened his. I used my ears instead of my mouth, and it made all the difference.

So now we walk after dinner as often as possible. I carry the flashlight and he carries the conversation. He warns me of uprooted sidewalks and over sized curbs, and I listen. He tells me about his day, and again, I just listen. I ooh and ahh and ask questions, but only in relation to the story he's telling me. I let him lead the walk and the discussion, and I've watched him thrive because of it.

It's been an awesome reminder to stop trying so hard as a parent, to remember that my job isn't to just tell Mark how to grow and thrive, it's simply to guide him. He's got it all inside him, he will grow into a strong, wise, caring man all on his own. Right now, he just needs someone to walk beside him, to listen to his hopes and worries, to applaud his bold decisions, to cheer him on when he needs a little encouragement.

And I am grateful, because I'm the one who was chosen. I'm the one who gets to walk beside him and listen. It's the most amazing Christmas gift I've ever received, and I'm not going to squander one minute of it.

Thank you, Santa.