The first week of school, my son comes home and tells me, "I think I might have to break up with Olivia."
He is almost 8, but not yet. Olivia has been his "girlfriend" since last school year. It was a hard fought relationship since another boy liked her also. There is a part of me that is proud that he got the girl.
"Oh yeah?" I ask.
In spite of his hard-fought campaign for her affections, the possible end of this relationship does not bother me. I am reassured by his constancy, but at not-yet-8, I want him more preoccupied with a love of lightsabers than a love of girls.
"She gave me a note today telling me that we still had a crush on one another, but when I tried to talk to her, she ran away from me," he explains.
My mind catches on the word telling.
"Well, if she won't talk to you, I think you're right about having to break up with her," I decide to handle this in the most adult way possible, convinced I have been given a lesson to teach him. "Communication is really important, and it's hard to have a relationship if you don't talk to one another."
He nods quietly, sitting on the floor in the family room; I am sorting mail at the kitchen island. I can tell he is thinking.
"I'll try again tomorrow," he says.
"I think that's a good idea. And remember, there are lots of other girls in the third grade if it doesn't work out with Olivia. Besides, you have lots of years ahead of you to worry about girlfriends. Maybe you could just take a break from having a girlfriend."
He looks over at me from where he sits, and his expression gives me a moment of panic. The introduction of real relationships into my boys' lives terrifies me, but the thought that they won't talk to me about them terrifies me more. I have pushed my agenda too far, I think. He will not trust me with this again.
Very earnestly, he says to me, "But mom, sometimes it's just nice to like someone."
There are moments, I think, when each of us feels unequal to the task of parenting. Moments when our confidence in our own wisdom is shattered by our children's naivete to theirs. I was right that there was a lesson, but it wasn't mine to teach.
He is almost 8, but not yet. Olivia has been his "girlfriend" since last school year. It was a hard fought relationship since another boy liked her also. There is a part of me that is proud that he got the girl.
"Oh yeah?" I ask.
In spite of his hard-fought campaign for her affections, the possible end of this relationship does not bother me. I am reassured by his constancy, but at not-yet-8, I want him more preoccupied with a love of lightsabers than a love of girls.
"She gave me a note today telling me that we still had a crush on one another, but when I tried to talk to her, she ran away from me," he explains.
My mind catches on the word telling.
"Well, if she won't talk to you, I think you're right about having to break up with her," I decide to handle this in the most adult way possible, convinced I have been given a lesson to teach him. "Communication is really important, and it's hard to have a relationship if you don't talk to one another."
He nods quietly, sitting on the floor in the family room; I am sorting mail at the kitchen island. I can tell he is thinking.
"I'll try again tomorrow," he says.
"I think that's a good idea. And remember, there are lots of other girls in the third grade if it doesn't work out with Olivia. Besides, you have lots of years ahead of you to worry about girlfriends. Maybe you could just take a break from having a girlfriend."
He looks over at me from where he sits, and his expression gives me a moment of panic. The introduction of real relationships into my boys' lives terrifies me, but the thought that they won't talk to me about them terrifies me more. I have pushed my agenda too far, I think. He will not trust me with this again.
Very earnestly, he says to me, "But mom, sometimes it's just nice to like someone."
There are moments, I think, when each of us feels unequal to the task of parenting. Moments when our confidence in our own wisdom is shattered by our children's naivete to theirs. I was right that there was a lesson, but it wasn't mine to teach.
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