And I’m not ready.
And I’m ready.
Absolutely ready for my son to grow up and, yet, I keep on wanting to hold on and hold back and hold away from the aging process.
The Boy is 16 and learning to drive.
The Boy has started the process of earning his Eagle Scout rank for Boy Scouts. This is pretty much the quintessential last step for ten years of work that my son has completed. He is almost done with Scouts.
He is almost done with being my little boy.
Well, he stopped being my little boy about twelve inches ago when he surpassed my 5’4″ short frame. My son is a full foot taller than me and looking up at him truly has new meaning.
Last night, my son met with his new Eagle Scout rank coach. Last night, my son went through the paper work and analyzed what he will be doing for the summer. Hopefully, by Labor Day, my son will have completed the work on his Eagle Scout project. He will be scheduling his meetings with various boards and committees to seek approval and validation.
Shortly thereafter, he will have likely finished his behind-the-wheel education and will be a licensed driver.
Which will benefit him because he has also been cast as Lysander in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The footpaths to my son’s dreams are laid out in scripts and blocking directing and projecting his lines across the auditorium. And I am standing on the side, watching it all happen.
I’m not a good bystander, not in terms of my children. I want to be meshed into the fabric of their lives and this will do nothing more than create two adult co-dependents. I will not swaddle my children so intensely that they are unable to find their own feet, much less cast their own shadows.
But this means trial and error and I hate watching my children ache with the pain radiating from their mistakes. Regardless, I will also remain standing on the edge of their lives holding a first aid kit.