My Young Man

During my absence from home, I talked to The Boy every second or third day and exchanged several e-mails. As far as I could tell, he was busy with school work and rehearsals, and he took time out to be with friends. He told me he probably wouldn't come to the airport to meet me. I didn't think it odd. I thought, if I were him, I would want to do the same - stay home and relish the last few moments of my independence and freedom, and do any final tidying up necessary.

Bro picked me up at the airport and commented on The Boy's absence. Today, Mom phoned to see if The Boy was angry with me for leaving him on his own and that's why he didn't come to the airport to meet me. This concern of Mom's took me back a bit. My understanding with The Boy, both verbally and non-verbally, was that he was thrilled and eager to be on his own.

A friend phoned and I mentioned The Boy hadn't come to meet me at the airport. He said that is typical of teenagers and especially for boys, if they were to grow up to be well-adjusted adults. He suggested I read Iron John by Robert Bly. It's about boys growing into men and the relationship between a mother and son.

I looked up the book. Even from the reviews, a light bulb suddenly went on: my trips away had been more important for The Boy than me. In the absence of vision quests and rituals to mark the coming of age for young men in our culture, my absences were his opportunity to reflect on what kind of person he wants to be and even try out how he wants to live. His trials were to prove to me he is responsible and could manage the house and his schedule without help. These periods on his own were his vision quest and coming of age ritual.

It made sense that he didn't come to the airport. My absence was about him, not me. He needed me to come home to find him well, that he didn't leave the house messy and the kitchen full of dirty dishes, that he's kept up with school work, that he's received acceptance from two universities. I operate so often on instinct without really understanding what I'm doing. Dr. Noggins tells me so. So I am glad I commented on how well he kept the house, didn't object to him moving his computer to the basement, and thanked him for clearing out the fridge of bad food. I relished in him telling me about his busy schedule, his complaints about the drama department and how they bring it on themselves when they run their rehearsals late and are disorganized.

He said to me at the end of the night, "I'm pretty sure I am ready to live on my own."