Thursday, March 12, 2009

He's Growing Up. That's Good. I Hope.

One of the things I stress with Spouse is our son's privacy. Spouse grew up in the "old school" environment in which children were viewed a lot like property. They were loved, but their personal rights were not recognized. Especially by parents. I grew up in the same kind of household, but apparently it torked me off a lot more than Spouse because of the two of us I'm the one least likely to barge into his room without knocking and waiting for a response. I want him to know he has privacy. That's important for anyone.

But when one is careless, one should not be surprised that their privacy isn't quite so private any more. That is what happened to Son just a few days ago.

I wanted to write about it right off, but I had other things I wanted to get off my chest. So I will tell you about it today instead of talking about animals and pets. (I never do what I'm supposed to do. I should go into politics or banking. I'd fit right in. Sorry. Save it for venting day.)

Anyway, the other day Spouse picked something up from a desk which Son had inadvertently put there. Spouse's desk is near where Son keeps his school backpack, and he will use it to hold items he pulls out as he retrieves his homework. Apparently, he forgot to put something back because Spouse picked up and found a sheet of notebook paper with the following written diagonally across it:

Do you want to go out with me? {name}

When I was shown the document I remarked that we had come across something private. Spouse's reponse was to put it back and pretend we had never seen it. That would work, I thought. But I didn't like it. My thinking was that would be dishonest. We had to confess. I said I would do it. Wasn't sure how Spouse would approach it. I didn't want this treated like a joke.

So after we brought Son home from school he happened to be walking by my computer and I stopped him. I said, "Oh, we owe you an apology, but please believe it was an accident." He wanted to know why I was apologizing and I got up and led him to the paper. I showed it to him and said it had been left on the desk.

He's nearly thirteen, but his face broke into one of those Little Boy Smiles I just love. Then he told me he didn't care that we had found (and read) it. This gave me the courage to ask my question. "So, do you want to go out with her?" (A dangerous question as I had no clue as to what I was hoping he would say. Once heard a laywer say one should never ask a question one didn't already know the answer to.) He didn't say he did, but he left the door open to saying it later. (Where did he learn politics? What are they teaching in that school anyway?)

I asked if she was pretty and that was when he confessed he wasn't even sure who she was. So I laughed and said, "Oh, I see now why you won't say if you want to go out with her. What if she looks like your friend, Joe? Right?" He didn't answer, but he smiled. It isn't fair that the pretty ones get all the dates, but I'm not going to tell him who to like.

Then he added that he had suspicion to who it was, and if it was her, he wasn't interested. Not because she wasn't pretty, but because, in Son's words, "she has a bad attitude". I didn't go into what this bad attitude entailed. He's in sixth grade, but because he is tall I could see a seventh or eighth grader thinking he was their age and making this request. Seventh and eighth graders are going through a difficult time and are notorious for "bad attitudes".

But our "little boy" is growing up. Nearly thirteen. In six years he graduates from high school (barring any unpleasantries). He'll be leaving home. Since he's an only child and generally quiet, the house is never in an uproar. But when he leaves it's going to echo. (Assuming some miracle happens and we're still here.) But wherever we are, it's going to echo.

Is it their growing up and leaving that troubles us, or is it that fact that their growing up means we've gotten "old"? Both are true, and neither fills me with any great joy. Well, maybe he'll come back and visit us in the Old Folks Home. Because you know, wherever we will be, it will be The Old Folks Home.

4 comments:

fairyhedgehog said...

I love how you treat your son.

I firmly believe that kids should have as much privacy as they want. Our lads had little hooks and eyes on the inside of their doors from when they were quite young so they could enforce privacy if they wanted to. We used hooks rather than bolts because they were weak enough that we could push past them if someone got themselves locked in by mistake.

I've always treated a shut door as a request for privacy: knock, and wait to be invited in. The thing is, the boys did the same for us. Also I wouldn't look at the boys things or go into their rooms when they weren't there without permission.

I think it was good to admit that you'd seen the paper by mistake. That way it's all honest and open. It's good that he can talk to you about things like that.

When my lads got to around 14, they went through a stage when they barely talked at all, just grunted. It seems to be natural to boys. We waited, and after a couple of years (I think it was) they came out of it again. I was glad we'd had lots of talks before they became so taciturn!

Bevie said...

Thanks for the encouragement, Fairy.

I agree. Past a certain age privacy becomes very important to all of us.

He's coming into the grunt stage. He's also becoming impatient about things. I told him that's fine. All he needs to consider is good manners. Just as we must consider them with him.

jaz said...

I think it's really important to remember how we felt at that age, how we wanted to be treated, how we were, even then, in tune with our need to have a private space and how good it felt when that was respected. I think so much of parenting gone wrong is due to the failure to just remember.

Bevie said...

That's what I always felt (thought) when I was young. I didn't want to make the same mistake with my son. It doesn't necessarily make me a good parent, but it does remove another thing I do wrong.