THE "BOYS-TO-MEN" DANCE

Lately I’ve been pondering the dance we do as parents with our teens around this unknown land called “Adulthood.”  Like a toddler learning to walk, these teens are taking their first steps towards liberty.  Towards being out from under our sight, or our reach.  They test our trust. 

As parents in a way we’re taking baby steps as well.  It might look like letting them take the car, or giving them tougher jobs. But sometimes we don’t get it as well.  We stumble and exert control.

Yesterday, our 14 and 17 year old were driving home with me in the car from Volcanoes National Park where we’d been camping with friends.  We stopped to check in on “Auntie Cheryl,” a distant relative and grandma.  She gave us a tour of her ever-expanding back yard, which she is taming by hand into a park-like setting with grassy paths and wood lined beds of native plants. 

“I have no idea how this happened, but somehow the Kahili ginger landed clear up in this Lehua tree.  I lay in bed last night, dreaming of how to solve this problem.”  I casually mentioned that perhaps the boys might be able to help.  They took the hint.  They grabbed an extension ladder, a mini saw, a trowel, and gloves.  Evan did the brunt of the work, while Jo stabilized the ladder and caught the rhizomes as his bro cut them loose.

I complimented the boys on their willingness to take time out of their day to help out Aunty Cheryl.  After they were leaving and all cleaned back up, they noticed it was happening in one of her trees in the front.  This one was lower, so Evan just needed a step stool, but still needed the saw to free up those pesky rhizomes.  

As we drove home that afternoon, I reflected on what just happened.  The boys rose to the occasion to help someone they care about. Cheerfully.  Aunt Cheryl thanked them repeatedly, glad to be rid of the problem.

I was reminded of Mary at the wedding of Cana with Jesus in John 2.  First she sees there's a problem.  There was no more wine.  Then she looks at her son, and realizes he has what it takes to solve the problem.  She hints to him about this issue. I imagine it was something like this, “Jesus… they ran out of wine at our relative’s wedding!” 

“Dear woman, why do you involve me?  My time has not yet come!” He replies rather directly. 

Instead of her answering Jesus, she says to the servant, “Do whatever he tells you.”  Boom.  History made that night as he sees the need, takes the hint, and acts on it.  First recorded miracle of his adult life.  The wedding host is delighted to finish with the better wine rather than the cheaper stuff.

As we drove home, I pondered this passage.  I complimented the boys on choosing well to bless Aunty Cheryl not just once but twice.  I couldn’t have done what they did.  If they didn’t really want to take on the challenge, I would have been OK with it.  But they took it on. 

Yet 24 hours earlier, both boys had conversations with me about what I felt we needed to pack for our camping trip that were---not very respectful.   For some reason they felt I was over packing.  Probably repeating a dozen conversations they’ve heard their dad and me have in packing for trips, they said, “Mom, we don’t need that game.  Nobody will want to play it.”  I begged to differ.  I thought of bringing it anyway as I thought our friends would enjoy it, and we could maybe get some batteries.  They also argued that I didn’t need my comforter blanket for the cool night up at Volcano.  

Turns out they were wrong.  The game was mentioned by friends there, and extra batteries had been brought along.  That problem could have been solved.  The comforter left at home?  Would have been majorly needed with the 53 degree night time temps with my thin fleece “sleeping bag” and equally-thin fleece blanket.   What I began to realize is that these boys are becoming like their dad.  Without anyone blowing a whistle that says, “Now you start acting like adults,” they were.  At least like the adult male in our household who routinely weeds out 1/4 of the stuff I pack on trips because I usually don’t need it.

But this time I did. At least the blanket.  But my friends took pity on me and happened to have thrown in an extra real sleeping bag on the trip.  The boys were taking baby steps at being “the head of the home.”  Of trying to help their mom pack efficiently. Only, I’m their mom.  Not their wife or their daughter.  In this awkward dance that we haven’t yet figure out, I caved. Or maybe I succeeded.  I didn’t push and raise my voice and insist that my way was right.  The boys did bring other games that were a hit with their teenage buddies at the camp ground. 

But the next day, coming down off that mountain, I felt that I’d had a raw deal, and that the boys should have just seen that it was important to me and—though they didn’t get it-- concluded that was enough to let it go.

So how does this work?  How do we see potential in our teens and call it out?  How do we hint without controlling and cajoling into getting work done, or that item you want packed? How do we be like Mary and call out the best in our sons when we know they can do it? 

 Are you with me, moms??  Has anyone found a way to figure out this dance yet—especially with teen boys? If so, share your secrets.   Cause sometimes the waters of respect get pretty muddy.