Bonus Year

By Roberta Durra 

My son is a young man. At 18 years of age he dons many outward signs of manhood: a stubble that can cover most of his face with only a few bare spots, shoulders that have broadened noticeably, and legs long enough to easily take two to three steps at a time on any given staircase. His voice has lowered considerably. When people call the house and he happens to answer the telephone, they no longer think he’s me. He drives his own car, makes his own schedule, and pretty much runs his own life. And he is truly excited about going to college.

I can see our goodbye now. Come September, I will drive with him to begin his college life. We will have a few suitcases filled with most of his favorite things, and we will have put the rest in deep plastic containers purchased at Target. We will have gotten him a new bedspread and a few accessories for the dorm. I will go up to his room and meet his roommates. Long before I am ready he will give me a hug signaling that he is ready for “mom” to leave and his new life to begin. I will want our hug to last a bit longer. He will feel emotional but will control himself so as not to look like a mama’s boy, which he clearly is not. He will laugh uncomfortably at my emotionality and say, “Come on mom. We’ll talk soon”. I will hold it together until I get myself back in my car and then it will hit me and I will cry. My baby is gone. Our years of living together and loving, sparing, arguing, laughing, sharing, annoying and enjoying each other are over. Now is the time for a new phase in our relationship. We will still have a strong bond, but it’s not like when he was younger and really needed me. I will imagine his old bedroom with the surfing poster above his bed and his guitar on its stand. It will all seem to have gone too fast. Wasn’t he just dressing up as a firefighter and snuggling with me while I read him bedtime stories?

Mothers and sons have interesting relationships. As best I can see, most mother and son relationships are not mired in the drama and angst that mothers and daughters can muster. Boys love their mothers and my boy was very open about that right until his facial hair started coming in. Then things changed. He didn’t want to need me and he pushed me away. This came in the form of rudeness, arguments and disobedience. I tried to teach my son to be an honorable man. I talked to him endlessly about life and choices and doing things that you love and treating people well. I endured the eye rolls and knew the boy I loved was in there somewhere. I listened intently when in an unexpected moment he shared the pain of his first break-up. I watched him move on and learn that there is indeed, life after first love. Sure, we went through a few difficult years but now that he’s off to college it all seems so normal and age appropriate. Why did I ever get wrapped up in the drama? Why didn’t I just realize that this would all pass so quickly and I would miss him terribly when he left?

Admittedly, the rough patches were somewhat difficult, like the period when he refused to make his own breakfast, or cook anything. By cook, I mean put two pieces of turkey on two slices of bread and call it a sandwich. I feared my skinny teenage boy would waste away to nothing if I did not prepare French toast or an omelet each morning, so I grudgingly cooked for him before he went off to school. And then there was the time when I was so irritated with his laziness that I frisbee’d his plate of food down the counter towards him. There was the constant “clean your room, do you think I’m your maid?” debate/argument/tirade, that I would get in to with him weekly. Who am I kidding, daily! And of course there was his habit of waiting until his laundry was bursting out of his closet with a will of its own before he would even think to stick the whole thing, in one load in the washer. Didn’t I ever talk to him about color sorting? Of course I did!! I vividly remember discussing this. And his bathroom… towels on the floor, hair in the sink? Who does he think cleans this? And the times he forgot to call when he was late or sleeping at someone’s house, and his phone wasn’t on, and I’d wait up losing sleep and eating cookies?!

Wait a minute! What am I talking about? This stuff is happening NOW. Right now. And he’s not off to college in September. I made a decision to hold my son back when he was in kindergarten. He has an extra year. A bonus year. He’ll be a senior this fall! I’ve got another year to put up with his self-centered, arrogant, me, me, me ways. I have to deal with this man/child living in my house 12 more months, the guy who is happy one minute and a moody beast the next. I’ve got to continue living and sparring with this great big ball of male hormones?!

I remember deciding to give him an extra year in kindergarten so that he could mature at his own pace and not be the youngest boy in his class, always struggling to catch up. I did it for him, and if I am perfectly honest, I did it for myself. I wanted another year with my boy before he went off to “real school”. And now I have an extra year with my nearly grown-up boy. And it’s not always pretty, and it’s not always comfortable. But the other night he unexpectedly called me into his room and played a beautiful song on his guitar and then we talked for a long time. We talked about movies, and girls, and dating. He told me that although he can’t wait for college, he likes being one of the oldest in his class and he’s happy he has another year before he leaves. He sat with his legs folded on a chair and I sat on the edge of his bed and time passed quickly. And I didn’t notice his bulging laundry, nor his dirty dish left on his desk from early that morning. I noticed his wisdom, humor, and easy manner. I noticed his handsome face and how his eyes sparkle when he laughs. I sat with my son and really appreciated the fact that my time living with him has not yet run its course. I remembered that day long ago when I made the decision to hold him back and I thought to myself, nice move. I’m really glad I did.