12
When I return to work in the fall, it’ll be my fifth year—my record—the longest time I’ve managed to keep a job. But I am definitely due for a meltdown. By meltdown I mean that my identity as an employee one day melts. I am suddenly just finished, I stop what I’m doing, and walk away. The boss yells “Hey! Where you going?” but I’m way too finished to answer. I go home and Jenna grimaces. She knows what melted jobs look like. I never do anything for long.
But today my son is 12, I’ve loved someone now for 12 years in a row, and the constancy of our relationship provides me with a great source of hope that some things—something must—defy the law of flux.
When me and Jenna brought him home, we plopped him on the bed and searched for answers in each other’s vacant eyes. What the fuck are we supposed to do with this tiny speck of inquisitive flesh? We were arrogant. We thought that parents raised children but it’s not true. We give them a place to stay and juice when they say “Juice?!?” and overestimate our impact. We don’t raise them. Children raise us.
If you think I’m strange, you should meet my son. The dude’s a crash course in otherness. Sometimes I struggle with comparing him to the me of his age. He’s not spoken once about attraction born of lust and he lacks a single friend who calls or comes by the house. And from the wrong perspective, these things concern me.
But the kid aces school across the board without raising a finger and, more importantly, he’s an abyss of questions. Being a 12-year-old boy-in-the-world for him means to be curious and wonder. He wanders in wonder, always—and I mean always—in the midst of articulating the world in the form of some new question. And if you know the answer, he’ll ask you another one. That’s his joyous game. To inquire into what you know until you run out of answers and the wondering begins.
So while I worry about when he’s gonna start chasing tail and get a big circle of friends, he’s busy making maps to the treasure house. Keep asking questions. Forget what you know. The best minds aren’t worried. The best minds are blown.
Happy birthday, J. Thanks for not conforming to my idea of what a 12-year-old boy is and continuing to astonish me with who you are. Your default is amazed. You transform me every day and it’s been my pleasure to love you this long. I never do anything for long. You raised me.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Reader Comments (13)
HB to Jackson! 12. 12? sigh. 12 was fun. sigh.
I've had 25 jobs and I'm 37. That includes clients as a consultant on contract, and I did start when I was 13, so. yah...I hear you. Once I know how to do something, have figured it all out, I am bored. Done. Moving on, so it seems. A rolling stone.
Kids? Kids. Right now I'm an aunt, not a mother. I hope if I do have my own they will teach me such wonderful things. This inspires me. Thanks.
Any agent updates? I want. the. book. can you tell?!
The. Book. Is getting tuned up in a second draft. Most writers know that the rough draft isn't really a book but I was all WHOO HOO I'M DONE because it felt really good to finish. It still feels good. Just not as finished. I'd say 2014 and I'm gold.
He should have a birthday party and invite everyone but Vincent.
That's the thing exactly: the kid birthday? Is as much an accomplishment for the parent as it is for the child. The celebration may be quieter and more circumspect on the adult side... but it's there, and it matters.
Congrats to you both.
What Muskrat said.
oh and congrats on the 12 years
Well. That was a great post. I remember last year when you said goodbye to the blogiverse-at-large, so it's great to find this. And I can see why you want to devote your writing energies into book form.
What a lucky boy to have a dad who may not understand him at all but is still amazed by him anyway.
Happy Birthday, kiddo.
I feel like mine taught me to be a parent, so yeah, just like this. I thanked my 5-year-old for that once. I said "You know what, Evan? You taught me how to be a mommy. Thank you!" and he thought and thought and thought and after a good long think he smiled a big smile and he was so proud and that made me proud too. Then he threw a bullhorn through a piece of plate glass and I chased him with a tennis racket but I slipped on a puddle of pee and threw out my back and the moment passed.
Amen brother. Sometimes I lay in bed with my 8 year old daughter and simply thank God that we understand each other. When I'm most lost in the world, she's my compass. Not much else matters. It a pretty special place to be.
It is amazing, isn't it?
Happy Birthday Jackson!
For me, it's only when I remember my own self as a child can I comprehend the actions of my oldest. Logic and reason are not tools I am able to use with her, so I have to dig deep and remember they did not work on me, either.
Happy Birthday, Jackson! I'm making the horns at Vincent on your behalf.
Happy 12th Birthday J! The world is a better place because of you.
Sounds like a cool kid, like his pop. Great post.