It wasn't completely unexpected. I see now that Mark's first day of school was really just one big bundle of nerves he tried to hide behind a cloud of snottiness and scalding coffee. The cliche is don't cry over spilled milk (or coffee, in this case), so I'm moving on.
Everybody's asking how high school is for Mark so far. The answer is...awesome! (Heather ducks nervously, hoping she hasn't tempted the fates into swinging the other way now.) Mark likes his classes and his teachers, and he's got tons of new friends. Marching band's going great, and he made the freshmen basketball team. Mark is seriously loving high school.
And I am finally coming to terms with it all.
Not that I was against it, per se, but this whole high school thing got to me a little this summer.
I was really dreading it. Maybe even longer than I dreaded Mark going into 4th grade, which is famous for requiring kids to build a California Mission. (Seriously, I am not crafty or artistic in any way, and that project injected many years of anxiety into my life).
But I dreaded this summer more because it felt like the beginning of the end. The countdown. Like the last 10 seconds on New Year's Eve, except this time we aren't counting down to a new year, we're counting down to Mark going off to college. Moving away. Leaving the nest.
And as the nest keeper, I don't really appreciate any of that.
It all started the day after Mark graduated middle school. Like, LITERALLY, the next day. With barely 12 hours to enjoy the end of his middle school career, Mark was summoned to sports orientation at the high school. I sat in a gym filled with basketball players and their nervous parents, and the coach told us practice started on Monday. So much for summer downtime!
But Mark was stoked. He loves basketball, and he couldn't wait to start. He loved the team, he loved the coach. He didn't quite love all the running, but he didn't complain (especially since it meant new running shoes, and Mark likes anything that nets him new shoes!). He was thrilled to be part of the team, and I was super proud of him.
Mark also went to percussion camp a couple times a week all through July, where he practiced with the drum line. In the middle of that, he went to sleep away camp. I missed him, and was so happy to see him when he returned that I almost burst into tears. He immediately asked if he could get back on the bus and go back for the second session. ("I missed you too, son!")
Then, in August, he gave up his last three weeks of summer to attend marching band camp.
He was not as happy about that, grousing about it the whole summer. I held my tongue--Mark hates anything new, but I knew once camp started, he'd be fine. Which is what happened.
"Marching band is actually pretty fun," he admitted a few days into it.
I hid my smile, knowing it killed him to say that out loud.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked. "'You were totally right, Mom, I love band, thanks for putting me in it?' Is that what you said?"
He rolled his eyes at me, but I could see him smiling, too. "That is not what I said," he answered.
"You're welcome," I said, smiling back. "And I'm glad that you like it."
So, when school finally rolled around, Mark was not (overly) scared or worried about it. We had that one bad moment, but since then, it's been pretty smooth sailing. He likes his classes and all his new friends. I've driven him all over the place--band practice, band car wash, movies with friends, a beach party. He even gets himself to activities, too--today, he called to see if he could hang out with friends at the local coffee house. He took his own money and rode his bike there.
And that is the real problem here...each step Mark takes toward independence is a step he takes away from me. I want him to be independent, but I am freaking out a bit over it.
It took me all summer to figure that out, to realize I'm not really sad about Mark going off to college someday soon. I'm mostly just sad about Mark separating now. About Mark doing exactly what I want him to do, what he needs to do--become independent of me, become a responsible, self-reliant young man. I keep pretending it's the future I'm worried about, when really, what scares me most is the now. Being Mark's mom is the best job I've ever had, and I feel like I'm being outsourced. My job is slowly moving offshore, and four years from now, I'll be downgraded to a part-time consultant instead of a full-time employee.
That's what I've grappled with all summer. That's why I couldn't write about all the silly, goofy things we did--because none of them felt silly or goofy, they all felt like big, important steps. I was afraid to recognize or acknowledge them.
 |
| OK, maybe he's not growing up as fast as I thought... |
But that day is not today. Today is a different day--the one where I finally stop worrying about the future, and embrace the present. Where I go home and play catch with my kid, because he still wants to do that. Where I take him out for ice cream, and we laugh about some dumb joke. Where I hug him, this man-child who is now the same height as me.
No day like today, huh?
No comments:
Post a Comment