Simple kinda Man
My son, in a moment of disparity, decided he wanted a Mohawk. I wasn’t home at the time. I was enjoying the quiet of a yoga class. Just as I was leaving, Shawn was about to embark on Patrick’s monthly haircut, which was usually a trim. That night though, just after yoga had ended, I turned my phone back on, all the space and good energy I had channeled by tangling my body in knots, drained out as I glanced down at a text messaged pic of Patrick, with a full on Mohawk. Now I’m not talking about the cutesy ones little boys get, where they still have hair but the center is spiked up. His mohawk was Iroquois authentic.
When I got home, it seemed my boy was gone and this hard-ass punk-ass kid was there. The judgment of those who wear a Mohawk overshadowed what I knew to be true about my son. Patrick is a loving, kind, and emotional kid. He even cried (like everyone did) the first time he heard, “Say something” song with Christina Aguilera. His smile was the same and his hug was unchanged, but still there was something about him that seemed far away.
A few weeks prior he started first grade. On pajama day, he remarked that he didn’t want to wear any of his super hero pj’s because he thought they were too baby-ish. I also noticed that all of the cute words he once mispronounced were all annunciated perfectly. He now said “potato chips” instead of “tomato chips”. I was losing all those little things that made him still seem little, and then came the Mohawk. Seemed he night as well just head off to college.
I have this thing, with my nine year old daughter. Not sure what exactly to call it, but we are solid. Like if we are on opposite sides of a room at a family or school party and we hear some noise or song…we will look at each other and smile. I know that she and I will always be tight. Of course we will fight and annoy each other etc…but the foundation is there, it always has been. Patrick and I have a close relationship too, but there’s an inevitable distance there. A wedge perhaps caused by gender or maybe our personalities, I’m not sure. I’ve been baffled by him since he was born. His presence defies anything I thought I ever knew about kindness, patience and outright rebellion. He’s loving and edgy and mysterious and I feel for the future woman in his life who will never quit trying to figure out who he is.
Anyway, He came down with some respiratory virus last week, and he needed me. It was the first time since the Mohawk I felt our connection again. Sure it was steeped in my mission to make him feel better. My mission to be a mom, when it’s hard (always harder when they are sick).
It was then that I realized, the moments like these, when he needed me, were going to begin to grow farther and farther apart. Yes, he’s six and we have a ways to go, but having this knowledge allows me to feel truly grateful. I know where I am in my timeline of his childhood.
Find the good. And stare at it for as long as you can.
