Franklin Serrano – the Double Edged Sword
My son Franklin (though secretly there are days when I say – that is no son of mine – my son would never do something like that!!) is a double edged sword. Though, I’m pretty sure that it is the wrong terminology – still, I think once you’ll see what I mean. With every forward step that Franklin makes – each step that makes Jose and I breathe a little sigh of relief that things will o.k.; he takes 2 steps backward, all the while figuratively slapping us upside the head in our naiveté and innocent belief.
For example, the same day that he finally decided that he was going to Western and going to be a Spanish teacher, was the exact same day we caught him smoking in the house and discovered that he had been smoking for 2 months. When I see him calling to check out his enrollment information for Western and then brag to Jose; Jose rips the carpet out from under me and informs me that he called and reminded Franklin 3 times that he needed to call today – and thus, my joy at his taking initiative was stolen and buried..
And then on graduation day, we were having a small celebratory event with his friends and Jose’s family. One of his friends asked me to transfer pictures from his phone’s memory card to a flash drive and when I did, I found pictures of prom. And not just any pictures of prom, but pictures that Franklin had taken himself from the front seat – and in the backseat, there were 3 Japanese anime looking girls. Now that might not seem like much, but Franklin and Andrew had both assured us that since neither of them have a full license, only the graduated license that only allows one other person in the car, that there would be no other people in the car. And here I was, on arguably the biggest, most important day of Franklin’s life, and I had caught him in a lie. Sure, I figured that he’d probably done that anyway – but I couldn’t prove it – not being able to prove something lets you pretend it doesn’t happen. And so…. I had proof and me, being me, had to find a way to deal with the proof, and decide upon a time. I spent much of the party fuming a bit…again, not at the event, but at the lie, and then at his own stupidity for taking pictures of himself in a lie.
So we had a talk about it, and I cried – because I’m learning from Franklin that parenting is perhaps one of the most painful tasks that we’ll ever undertake. With my own, I’ve not yet stepped over into the realm of fear and anxiety. There is still mostly hope, pride, joy, and dreams. It is little wonder that with such an auspicious start – coupled with our refusal to let go of those things, the nest leaving (both emotionally and physically) is so difficult. It’s like the magic of childhood is bleakly overshadowed with reality. And the mommy brain, that was activated the instant we gave birth and spent the first 3 years looking at every single component of the world and environment seeing potential hazards has to expand itself beyond a 20 foot radius to encompass an entire town, a virtual reality, a thousand other people who have only their own best interests at heart, not my child’s. And the struggle that Franklin has with Jose and I is nothing compared with the struggle that we have within ourselves to let him go and do that – especially when he still has so many important lessons to learn – and who will be there to teach him.
I am currently walking on a fine line. It’s the I’m there if you need me line; and the feel free to take some risks, but don’t cross this line line. I’m officially at the point of my life where the phrase, “as long as you live in this house, you live by my rules” pops unbidden into my head anytime he wants to do something that just isn’t going to happen. But, I coach most of those responses in terms of social contracts. It’s an issue of common courtesy to let us know if you’re going to be late. Perhaps you don’t have a curfew, but my car does; and it must be in the driveway by 11:00 p.m. And then building in baby steps for both of us. Letting him know that he can have more freedom, but he has to establish our trust in him and demonstrate responsibility.
And even though he looks at us, rolls his eyes, and say we treat him like a girl (apparently in El Salvador girls are caged and protected, boys run free and wild) – I’ve decided that I don’t care. He can hate us, mutter under his breath, and come up with such canny phrases as “how will I ever learn, unless you let me try, or I make mistakes.” He can make all the mistakes he wants when I don’t to watch him do it. That’s the part of parenting bliss that no one tells you about. We all strive to return to the era of hope, dreams, pride and good will. And we are quite willing to suspend disbelief and nod and smile when they tell us all the good things they are doing – ignoring the experiential knowledge that they are getting wasted on a floor with cigarette butts and god knows what else scattered about not 4 hours before they came home for a visit. Parents of college age kids actively ignore the mommy brain, brushing it under the faded keep your grades up carpet. Mostly because we equate decent grades with good living. They couldn’t be passing their classes if they are partying ALL the time. And if a problem arises, it’s very difficulty to step back into the mire. Because by then, truly, parents have no control or power and must sit back and watch – our own lesson to be learned.
That is where I am . . . holding firmly to my mommy brain eraser…but not quite using it yet. Hoping, beyond hope, that there is another way . . . to relinquish control but not contact and communication . . . seeking a way to share my experiences and those of others with him so that he can make informed decisions . . . and dreaming that if he makes a mistake that he learns a valuable lesson and decides to share his experience with us instead of hiding it. I’m pretty sure it can be done . . . I’ll let you know one way or the other.
