…but, Oldest Son called me at 1am. I answer, feigning sleep (I was right here, reading blogs, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
Immediately, I hear him let out a string of expletives that would make even a sailor blush.
No, not at me. At the girl with whom he spent the weekend (with whom he also shared a house for just over a year, up until March of this year.)
Just as I was about to jump his shit for that, I hear her return a string of her own.
Then I remembered…they roll like that.
Correction: My son rolls like that, and incites anyone who spends more than 5 minutes with him to roll like that, as well. In fact, I believe that boy could incite God to take His own name in vain.
When he finally recognizes that I have, in fact, answered my phone, he says, “I hate to do this to you in the middle of the night, Mom, but I need you to come get me outta here.”
He heard my snort, I guess, because next he said, “Well, shit – if I stay here, I’m gonna end up doing something stupid.”
Veiled threats don’t go over well with me. Have I mentioned that?
At my lack of response, the pity party begins. “I’m ready to give up. I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t think like you. I haven’t got your brains, OR your patience. (funny how he has no clue that I acquired that from 20 yrs of mothering him…) All my friends won’t have anything to do with me. Every girl I try to be with – it ends up like this shit. (the common denominator has not yet dawned on him, apparently…) I’ve got nothing. (nice to be categorized as nothing…) You know what? This phone is going to die on me, so nevermind. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine…”
Dead air.
Dial tone.
Shit!
So here I sit remembering being 20. Remembering thinking no one could tell me anything remotely useful, least of all my mother. But then, I never called my mother in times of crisis. She was the LAST person I’d give that kind of ammunition to.
Mothering Oldest Son? Best I can liken it to is herding cats. Completely frustrating. Nearly futile, without help. So I learned early to call in the Big Guns. I tell God, “Ok – he’s yours. Good luck. Let me know what, if anything, you need me to do, because I’m out of ideas.”
Some people say before we are born, when we are still just a soul looking for a body, we choose our parents. If that’s true, I still, to this day, have no clue why this child chose me. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time over the years wondering.
Push come to shove, I’d say he was looking for someone to persecute, or he wanted to teach me unconditional love…
…or both.
Seriously, are you ME? Especially this part:
“I’m ready to give up. I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t think like you. I haven’t got your brains, OR your patience. (funny how he has no clue that I acquired that from 20 yrs of mothering him…) …You know what? This phone is going to die on me, so nevermind. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine…”
How does it work out that we have children so very different from us? I really have no basis whatsoever from which to understand my firstborn either. I do love him, but shit, he makes it SO HARD to LIKE him sometimes….at least nowadays.
Oy.
I have NO FREAKIN’ CLUE how that works…trust me…I wish I did (I think…)
I have a post I’ve been working on for over a week trying to talk about that exact phenomenon, but I keep censoring myself thinking, “Oh you CANNOT post THAT for all to see….or that either…and hell no, not that!” Pretty funny for a self-proclaimed unfiltered big-mouth like me.
Maybe it just cuts too deep? I don’t know…but I will eventually get something post-worthy written.
In the meantime, I’m thankin’ my lucky stars our paths have crossed. At least I know I’m not the only one. 🙂 THAT is worth a lot.
Oh my oh my. What I have to look forward to in less than 13 years…
oh dear.
I wonder how he sees himself. The victim? Generally confused why these things are happening?
they say that personalities jump a generation. Like you might not resemble your parent, but you might resemble your grandparent.
Does he resemble any of his grandparents in temperament?
Soccer Mom: there is hope. Second Son sports none of this attitude or outlook at 14, and I have no reason to believe he’ll adopt either for more than a temporary spell in the future. Everyone gets the blues, but Oldest Son seems to have been born with them.
Kitty: Neither of my parents are overtly this negative, but I’ve heard stories about the other set. I think his personality is predisposed, and exacerbated by years of really bad role models.
Wishing for a “do over” doesn’t do any good, but it is my secret fantasy where this child is concerned. Hindsight being what it is, I see many decisions I’d like to have made differently. But…I suppose that’s true, to some extent, of every mother of adult children looking back over the years.