Sons Becoming Teens - A Parent's Reflections

One moment that I think most, if not all, mothers of sons have is the Tall, Gray-Socked-Feet Moment. It occurs when our sons are in the teens and have fallen asleep somewhere - on top of their bedspread, on a couch, on the floor - and the formerly white socks they've walked around in and that have become unwashably gray suddenly shock you not because they're gray (you're used to that by now), but because the feet in them are so giant. There they they - giant, gray-socked, feet not all that far below eye-level and attached to crossed ankles (which may, in turn, be attached to muscular, hairy, calves that show if the son is wearing shorts).

It hits you: When did those feet get so big? How did that happen? The size of those socks and feet tell you your son is pretty much a man. The grayness of the socks assures you he's not really a man quite yet. It is a moment of amazement and pride and just a hint of sadness, but its also a moment that can make you smile. I don't know - big, gray, dirty, socks can just make a person smile under some circumstances. Maybe its only when the wearer of such otherwise obnoxious socks is someone we treasure as we do. Maybe its because on this relatively rare chance to watch our grown son sleep we get to temporarily feel as we did when he was little and when watching him sleep was something we did on a regular basis.

With daughters (I have one) I think it may more be the day they show up in a certain outfit or with a certain haircut, or maybe its the day they graduate from high school; but with a son, that moment of realization comes long before high school graduation, and it doesn't involve any special dressy dress or chic haircut. With a son, its definitely the giant, gray socks that make you at once see both how grown he is. and how that little boy you know too well to have noticed the change in no longer has those straight, slender, legs and cute, little feet and instead now has "man legs" and giant, gray-socked, feet.

For me, the Giant, Gray, Socks moment came twice - once with my oldest son and then again with my youngest son. The first time I had a Giant, Gray, Socks moment was the biggest shock. The second Giant, Gray, Socks moment was an experience with which I had previously experience, and it had the added characteristic of being the Giant,Gray, Socks moment that made me not just realize how grown my second son was but also how I had gotten not one but two little,

adorable, boys from zero to Giant, Gray, Socks in what felt like so much less time than it had taken in reality. With both of my Giant, Gray, Socks moments I recalled when the socks were

about as long as my hand, and I'd match them up according to color and put them folded and organized in a drawer, ready to be easily matched with the shirt I had decided would be worn that day. With both of my Giant, Gray, Socks moments I recall thoughts of "He's not a little boy" and "He's not a man" and "He is a man" and "He's still my little boy" and "When did he get this grown up?" and "Look at the size of those feet!" playing in this moment of being taken aback.

More importantly, though, it is the arrival of the Giant, Gray, Socks moment that marks the beginning of the phase in a son's life when you can kind of know you've done pretty well by this child - this person who doesn't share your gender and who - way in the beginning of your brand new relationship with him - had a gender that made you hope you would know what you were doing over the course of his childhood.

Before I was a mother I had a theory that if you raise a child to "be a person first" and try to help that child like whichever gender he or she happens to be that all the other gender issues will take care of themselves later, when the hormones kick in. My other belief was that when we are figuring out what is important to teach children we should use the "is-this-acceptable-in-society" line of thought as a guide. In other words, is eating every last pea important in society? Not really. On the other hand, is not jumping on tables important in society? It most certainly is, at least in most societies.

As with all first-time mothers, I had my share of critics. There was the macho neighbor who thought I "would make a baby of" my son by giving him a two-wheeler bike on his fifth birthday rather than his fourth. There was the person who said I needed to "toughen him up". There was the other person who said he needed to play more baseball. When you have a son who is slight and who isn't as aggressive as some people think boys ought to be there are a lot of critics. My first son was as active and athletic as any little boy could be, but his appearance was more pretty and slender than macho; and, for some reason, the fact that he was known as a well behaved child made some of the critics tell me I was not letting a boy be a boy. I, on the other hand, was pretty delighted with the child that my son was - so much so that I did all the same things when his little brother was born. As a result, I listened to the same people with the same criticisms. The funny thing was, there were so many ways their sons, if they had them at all, weren't children I'd really want to live with and didn't appear to be growing up to be the kind of people I wanted my sons to be, but I never understood why these critics couldn't just be happy with their own sons, who were their idea of what a son should be, and get their mind off my sons, who were the kind of children I thought sons should be.

I used to tell people they didn't have to be worried about whether or not I was "making a girl" out of my sons by raising them to behave when they were in someone's house or in school or by discouraging them from being physically aggressive (which is entirely different from physically active). I think part of what made me such a target for criticism was the close relationship I enjoyed with each son. A big part of it may have been that they were slightly built boys with really beautiful faces. One son was recruited for a soccer team because of how well he was seen kicking a ball, but, I'll admit, once he got on the team he seemed, at times, to lack killer instinct. My sons preferred baseball, in which running and hitting the ball are the skills that make winning rather than having a killer instinct. One went on to be an All-Star. The other took self-defense classes. Both did a lot of reading. Both learned to play guitar. Both were well behaved in school, and one did better than the other with school work.

I think that if they had done all the same things and had had a more rugged appearing build and behavior I wouldn't have been quite the target for the criticism and contempt of those people who accused me of "making a girl" out of my sons. I was amazed, though, as well as aggravated and angry to so often be placed in the position of addressing the issue of whether or not my sons were "masculine enough". I had every faith that they would grow into fine, strong, men even if were "trying" to stop that from happening because I was fairly certain that I did not have it in my power to alter their gender at that point. I had every faith, too, that I was right in believing it was my job to raise a human first and let their gender place its own role whenever Nature decided to assert itself more. I knew that trying to raise a human first and not getting all tied up in the idea of "making a man" out of a small child would serve my sons better in the long run, and I didn't appreciate how often I'd have to defend myself to certain critics or else just ignore them and feel aggravated at not defending myself. I was fairly sure that I was taking the right approach, but then again, no reasonable mother would ever be so sure that everything she was doing as a parent was so right it should never, ever, be questionned. Still, though, my aim was to raise young men who were intelligent and strong and gentlemanly - not street thugs and brutes - and so I stuck to my guns (even mothers use phrases that imply masculinity sometimes) and raised my sons my way.

Just as I suspected, as each boy grew past early childhood and into middle-childhood his appearance became a little less pretty and "girly" (if, when a boy is awfully nice-looking his appearance must be considered "girly"). As middle-years boys, my sons were still nice people. It was just that their masculinity was showing in their appearance. They were "regular" boys - nice boys, but regular boys. Still, though, there were the hints of doubt from certain people who believed that no nice boy could be a regular boy.

When the first Giant, Gray, Socks moment occurred for me I couldn't help but think about all those idiots who had said I was "making a girl" out of my son and think, "Do you notice anything about him now, fool? Is this young man who works out as he does and who does all the 'typical guy' things he does any less masculine that the little brute that was in his third-grade class?" By the time my second Giant, Gray, Socks moment occurred with my younger son (I'll admit it) I thought, "I did it right - not just once, but twice, and if I had another son I'd do it right again!" By the time I had that second Giant, Gray, Socks moment I thought about how my beautiful little sons had grown into handsome young men and about I had been right to believe that if you raise a human first, while trying to help that person like whatever gender he is, and then let gender take care of itself when Nature decides to assert itself more, it works out pretty well.

When you look at your baby boy and you know his gender is different from yours you do try to think about what you're supposed to be doing to help your precious child be what he is. You do know that there will be a point in his life where Nature will take his identity in a direction beyond any similarities he shares with you and off in a different direction when it comes to his gender. I guess, as a mother, I was just always very much aware that my son's gender was his own and that having respect for, and faith in, the way children grow into their own genders it was more important that I concentrate on teaching him the things about being a person that don't come as naturally.

It has been quite some time since I had Giant, Gray, Socks Moment Number 1 and Giant, Gray, Socks Moment Number 2. Both of my grown sons have matured into young men who now wear socks that stay clean. As with all moments with our children, the Giant, Gray, Socks moments that caught me by surprise and made me realize how quickly and almost without notice even the cutest and tiniest little feet can turn into giant, gray-socked, feet have become moments to remember. I've been used to the fact my sons are grown men now, although sometimes when I see them I still see the little boy they kind of still are in some way I can't describe (and that's not to imply that they aren't mature, because they were mature a long time ago).

A few weeks ago I happened to see my son at the train station. A woman with bags was boarding. She was probably in her forties - not super-young and beautiful and not a little, old, lady. My son, in an outfit that made him look particularly attractive, hung back to allow the woman to board before he did. He didn't know I saw him, and I saw the gestures that indicated she was ok with his boarding ahead of her and then, eventually, she did board first; and the gentleman who had stepped back to allow her to go before him boarded after. It wasn't a big deal, but I was proud of my son in some appropriately small way because I had watched other people push past the woman with the bags and let her fend for herself when it came to who got on first and got a seat.

I think I'll call this, "The Train-Boarding Moment", and some day a few years from now I'll write about how teenage boys who have giant, gray, socks turn into gentlemen with careful upbringing.

When I used to look at my beautiful baby sons I never expected them to be one thing or another when they grew up as far as what they did for a living went. What they chose to do for a living was their choice and their business, although, of course, I would support their choices. I did, though, hope they would grow to be good, caring, kind and strong men. As the mother of sons, I've gone through the phase where I was seen as the prettiest lady in the world, the phase where I was the most trusted person in the world, the phase of being criticized by others, the moments of the giant, gray, socks, and the realization that it has been some time since I've seen socks that gray. Now that my sons are grown and the moments of one realization or another are not such a regular part of life, I can't help but particularly appreciate the rare moment like "The Train-Boarding Moment" that can catch me by surprise with a little delight and pride not because my son's behavior was a big deal but because in such a moment when so many other people did not exhibit similiar behavior it was my son who stood out among the crowd.

As a parent, we have our moments of big pride when our children have some big accomplishment. Then we have our smaller moments of small pride that come when we see that we have accomplished something we thought was important.

What I now find kind of surprising is that I mostly forget any sense of sadness I felt with each Giant, Gray, Socks moment; and now that only the cleanest of socks show up in my world once again, I look back on the giant, gray, socks with fondness and have discovered that I now view my grown sons with an awe I didn't know existed when they were beautiful, little, boys.