Remember the past year or so of posts I’ve intermittently written regarding my son? You know, when I’m anxious about his homework not being done, or not being turned in, or he’s failing a class, or he’s only thinking about work?
I have reduced my expectations to the point where I celebrate that he only failed one class this semester.
I have dried my tears at seeing the mothers and their children at Starbucks just like we used to do every Saturday morning.
I have shut my mouth about what I want him to do, and I’m letting him do what he wants to do. (Basically.) If I drop him off at the front door of the school at 7:18 every morning, and he leaves out the back door at 7:20 to go have a smoke at the Carillon across the street, that’s up to him.
If he gets 90% or higher on all his exams, but still fails the class because he didn’t hand in one scrap of homework, that’s up to him.
If he promises me an hour at Starbucks along with my Christmas gift card, and my heart is silently crying as all the time of Winter break escapes before it comes true, that’s up to him.
And then what does he do?
He actually notices that his High School is sponsoring a Mother Son Brunch, thinks of inviting me, uses the money he’s earned to buy two tickets for us to go, and then slips them into his stepfather’s hand so it will be a surprise for me.
I’m surprised, all right. It looks like my son is returning to the boy I once knew. Funny how that happens when I finally shut my mouth.