End of an Era

I have always marvelled at my relationship with my son.  It is a rare and fascinating thing; surprising and delightful - baffling and energising. I have watched him grow from a baby; helpless and needy, through year on year of discovery and adaptation.  I have seen him try and fail, learn and forget, grow and withdraw.  Where once there was a weak and directionless tributary, easy to dissuade and encourage with few well-placed pebbles, now flows a river; drowning obstacles and carving its path through solid rock. Floods and droughts colour his mood, and I must not stand in his way. Not that I have any intention of doing that.

Of course, I have not enjoyed every aspect of this journey.  It is impossible to 'enjoy' watching your child learn about prejudice, misogyny and hatred, and wrestle it into a place where it can be safely dealt with. I have, however, taken enormous pleasure in seeing him recognise and overcome such things.  Now, as he approaches another key juncture in his life, I can't help but look back and bask in pride at the young man he has become.  He is not a genius, has no extraordinary talents or skills.  He works hard, but not as hard as he should, and therefore achieves, but not as much as he could. But he tries, and I know he will continue to mature and, one day, reach his full potential.

I am, by nature, an objective person, and I have always been honest with my son.  I could no more give a glowing, falsely positive review of a drawing or a piece of writing, nor claim that it was less than its worth, for whatever imagined effect.  Sometimes he would be disappointed that I didn't appear to like something as much as he had hoped, and sometimes he would be surprised as I listed all the unintended merits of another of his projects.  But in the round, he has come to understand that he will only get an honest opinion from me.  Of course he also understands that my opinion is just that:  My opinion. We butt heads constantly, but I usually give in.  I realise he is no different to me in that he needs to find out for himself.  He will not be taught.  Neither would I, and I know how much I have learned, despite this.

I am coming to terms, as all mothers, and fathers must, with the fact that he is his own man.  He will go his own way, whether I think is it the right choice or not.  I fear for him, but not as much as I would if he was not his own man.  He is about to enter a world that is almost as alien to me as the 90s were to my mother.  As he turns 18, I hope we have done enough to give him the skills and the will to succeed for himself.  We will be there for him, for as long as we can sustain.