Saturday, October 11, 2008

The hardest part

Tom Petty famously sang "The waiting is the hardest part." For some reason today, I couldn't get this lyric out of my head. It is probably because, even though I love this song, I couldn't disagree more. Parenting is the hardest part. Let me be more specific: Parenting a teenager is the hardest part. And trust me that it is THE hardest when a girl in 4 inch pink heels comes to your door, picks up your son and drives off with him.

Without even a second glance in your direction. Not just from her, but from him.

Especially when, prior to driving off, you can see the sparks in their eyes as they look one another over. Him as handsome as ever in a black suit, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean frame. Her as gorgeous as ever, reminding you of a young Julia Roberts, in a dress without straps and the aforementioned heels. Pink heels. Did I remember to tell you that they were 4, FOUR inch heels. How scandalous!

At least it was for me.

I am starting to realize that my efforts to keep him MINE are pointless. And probably a bit selfish. An infinity of my homemade bread loaves, cookies and chicken papriksh do not matter. There is nothing I can do to keep him as mine and mine alone. He will always be a part of me, but not mine exclusively. And for this mere fact, I am sad. At 16, he is like a rubber band. Pulling one minute toward his friends, girlfriend etc., at the same time getting farther from me. Another minute rebounding to his father and myself because we are good and safe and still comforting to him. The strings of his rubber band seem to oscillate faster and faster with every waking moment. I am just afraid that his rubber band will succumb to the pressure and break, flinging him far, far, far away from me. But, no matter how far he is flung, I will immediately set out on my way to collect him and bring him back.

Fling. Flang. Flung.

Fe. Fi. Fo. Fum.

I certainly am the biggest dum dum.

A sucker. A complete sucker. But I just can't help myself.

Prior to any teen oriented activity which takes place outside of my home, I always go over the rules with Jr. No drugs, no drinking, no smoking and most importantly no sex. Always be a gentleman. And he knows what I mean by this, because we painfully, at least for him, had the conversation about this a few months ago. You must remember that I am shameless in my topics of discussion with him. Nothing is off limits. I feel that by reviewing the do nots, they will not happen. Whatever gets me thru the day, right?

I have a ritual that I do as he walks out of the house, as I am pathetically watching from the front door. I say under my breath "Don't have sex. Don't have sex. Please, don't have sex."

I guess I am hoping that if Jr. hears my Tom Petty song, he will agree with Tom. The waiting is the hardest part. Because he is waiting, just like I've asked him to do.