Carter celebrated his 17th birthday this week,
but according to him, 17 is nothing special. No big deal. It’s
not 16, it’s not 18, it’s just kinda whatever.
I disagree. Vigorously. For me, 17 is momentous.
First of all, as Carter himself said to me few months ago,
“Look, Mom, I’m not smart yet, but my stupidity is on the decline.”
Thank you, Jesus. And please don't take offense, because that’s not
blasphemy. That’s genuine
gratitude. Maybe not every mom would consider herself blessed to have a child with “declining stupidity,” but
since I live with two – count ‘em, two – hormonal, impulsive, illogical,
unpredictable teenagers, “declining stupidity” sounds pretty darn good. Particularly in the face of my own hormonal, impulsive, illogical and unpredictable behavior.
Mostly though, Carter’s 17th birthday reminds me
marvel at the man he is becoming.
When he was just a toddler, and I was pregnant with Julia, a
friend remarked, “I am SO glad you’re having another baby!” Then, she shared this insight, “Now
you’ll realize that you don’t get to take all the credit for what your child is
or does. And you don’t have to
take all the blame, either. They
are who they are. They just come out that way.”
They do. For 17
years, I’ve tried to guide and shape and nurture. I’ve tried to teach and encourage and motivate. And I’ve tried to predict. Lord knows how I’ve tried to
predict. Carter used to devour
books: English would be his favorite subject! Until he was four, he wouldn’t poke a toe out of bed until I
came to get him: He would never be a risktaker! He loved whole fruits and
vegetables: He’d never succumb to fast food!
Riiiigggghhhtt.
Or actually, wrong. Wrong, wrong and wrong.
He's not crazy about English, he's well-acquainted with risk-taking, and more often than not, he'll drive through, rather than drive by, a Chick Fil A. But I'm awestruck as he makes his way toward becoming the man he chooses to be. He’s bright and funny and irreverent and
opinionated. He’s mellow and outrageous,
devil-may-care and fiercely devoted.
He just came out that way. Or, he just chooses to be that way.
Either way, I don’t get to take the credit. I simply get to appreciate the person he is.
Happy birthday, son.
Being a parent to you at age 17 is something special, indeed.
3 comments:
I loved this post! I am also living with two teens, both boys and this writing hit the nail on the head!
So true Cheri -- I was sure my super-reader son would be a writer (he's in business school), stay charmingly shy and retiring (fraternity man at the University of Georgia, and that's all I'm going to say about that), and be a healthy and adventurous eater all his life (also loves Chick Fil A when he can't find a Qodoba). So I was also wrong on all counts, BUT he is wonderful and I'm so lucky to be his mom! Thanks for reminding me of that this morning!
Thank you, Frat Pack! And Cam, have I ever mentioned that UGa is currently on the list of "highly desirable" schools? Greek life, it seems, is a high priority -- the on-campus availability of Chick Fil A is downright tantalizing!
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