Yesterday, my son, my sister and I had dinner with my mother. She cooked and it was okay. Cooking is a big deal for her 89 year-old bones, but it has always been her way of demonstrating her love of the family or company gathered in her home, so we let her cook…but we keep an eye on her.
Plus, she hadn’t seen her grandson in a year, and that made it even more important for her. Funny how sons and daughters seem to disappear in the presence of grandchildren. As the vanishing son in this equation, I am delighted at the love and attention that my mother showers on my own son. She’s actually quite wonderful and can teach us all a thing or two about loving and raising your children…no matter how old they are.
Here’s the deal. My sister knew that I was going to take the son driving today (he has his learner’s permit). On our way home from dinner, she calls me with this specific message: Don’t yell at him while teaching him to drive.
That’s a fine message. The fact is, however, I have only yelled at my son once in 16 years. We both remember it clearly. It was a bit traumatic for both of us. Due to my boy’s amazing maturity and willingness to trust me even then, we worked through it just fine.
So, here comes Sunday (driving day). I call my mother to thank her for the meal and her hospitality of the day before and she, too, manages to tell me not to yell at my son during the driving lesson.
I am almost starting to take all of this quite personally when the truth of all this occurs to me.
They love him…a lot.
The women in this family of mine instinctively, vocally and actively protect their young. They all did it with me and they are doing it with my son. Regardless of any real need, they do it. That’s what we do with children in my family…get ‘em growed up and keep ‘em safe while doing so…constant vigilance.
My son is very excited about driving. He’s also very anxious about driving…and a lot of other things. As i have said before, he loves me, he trusts me and he listens to me.
We drove…or rather, he drove. He let me put him through my paces (driving long distances backwards, doing figure eights through parking lot medians, backing the car into a parking space) in an empty high school parking lot. Then I led him through the parking lot to an exit out onto the roads of my community…which surprised and delighted him…and made him a little anxious.
The way you learn to drive on a road or a highway is to drive on a road or a highway. The deal is, because of his anxiety, he is hyper-vigilant and way, way careful. I wasn’t worried. He will probably someday drive folks in the cars behind him crazy, but that would be their problem.
I told him to do what he knew to do and reiterated a line he has heard from me for 16 years. “Be careful. Pay attention.” He says it with me, now. He drove.
He was pretty satisfied with himself (and me, I think) in the end. I had told him about his aunt’s and grandmother’s admonition to me before we started driving. I gave it to him like this: “You know how much your aunt and grandma love you?…”. At the end of the session he asked for my phone. He called each of them and informed them that I didn’t yell once at him and, just in case they didn’t know, I never really have.
LB
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