My Son And Me

by Amy Ruhlin

As seen on: LivingBetterat50+

My son has a job as a lifeguard this summer and today, I drove him to work. Though he now has his driver’s license, he does not yet have his own car, so for the time being we must share mine and he is being a good sport about it. I drive slowly; neither of us has an agenda and there are no external distractions. We are simply mother and son, each fully present, as we so often were when he was young, before I became preoccupied with the passing of time and midlife reinvention, and before he became preoccupied with the demands of growing up and teenage activities.

He sits in the passenger seat beside me wearing his uniform: red, knee length swim trunks, a white T-shirt with the word "Lifeguard" spread across the back, a whistle around his neck. I take in the sight, knowing that it will soon be a cherished memory. I remember other uniforms: lime green pajamas with cartoon characters on the front, a black ninja outfit for Halloween, a baggy soccer uniform on his small four-year-old frame. He has a new haircut. I can see his delicate facial features: well defined eyebrows, long, black eyelashes an easy smile.  The features that I appreciated every day when he was young but have often failed to notice since he hit puberty and since I turned 45. He has been busy trying to break away, as he should. I have been busy trying to move on and to hide my heartache, as much as I can.

He talks to me about his job and I listen and I can tell that he still cares that I listen. He tells me about the beginning of his cross country running season and that he will be among the leaders of the team during his senior year. I am impressed and I can tell that it still matters to him that I am. We talk about colleges and I encourage him to follow his deep interest in the one that is half-way across the country, even though the distance is a concern. I see him surprised at my encouragement, but glad that he still has my support. Though he is almost 17 years old and nearly 6 feet tall, I see that he is still vulnerable, still lighthearted, still interested in what his mom thinks of his life. The same son as before, only in a different uniform.

Like so many mothers and sons, my son and I were inseparable when he was small.  He barely left my side; he was my little boy. But as he grew, I was no longer the center of his universe, no longer the only girl in his life, and I knew that I had to begin the process of letting go. I didn't want to do it and it was often scary. I was afraid of losing him.

But today, during a quiet few moments together in my car, I realize that I haven’t lost anything. My little boy has simply grown into a fine young man and we are still mother and son.

What I Learned From Touring Colleges For Spring Break

by Amy Ruhlin

I had the privilege of touring college campuses last week with my teenage son. I didn’t see it this way at first; in fact, I thought it was a dreadful way to spend spring break. I know I’m not suppose to think that, or God forbid, say it, since touring colleges with your kids is de rigueur these days. But I missed our spring trips when the children were small and their laughter filled the car on long drives to the beach, or when we shared the thrill of riding the same roller coaster over and over again at Disney World. I wanted those days to last forever and I wasn't looking forward to this spring break since we had to do something so responsible and serious.

I wanted my flip flops and my silly hat and my kids not caring what I looked like or how I acted. Instead, I had to wear sensible mom clothes and I could tell that my son was a little concerned about being seen with his fifty-something parents on hip college campuses. I promised I'd try really hard not to embarrass him and I hid my tears knowing that the days of my kids thinking that I’m wonderful are over.

The first tour was a college located in the center of a large city. I was expecting lots of concrete and a boring tour guide. Instead, I was surrounded by stunning architecture and magnificent trees as we were led through campus by a third-year student with an exuberance that I had long forgotten. She was thrilled with her school, excited for her future, and happy to share it all with us. The campus brimmed with activity as students walked to class and laughed in coffee shops, and my son was gleefully taking it all in. I have to admit, it gave Disney World a run for its money and the campus bookstore even sold silly hats, though no Mickey ears.

The next stop was a University in a rural area with rolling hills and trees draped in Spanish moss. Students jogged alongside a winding river and bicycles were everywhere. I had forgotten  that college campuses are so fully alive and the excitement I saw in my son's eyes was as beautiful a sight as any ocean.

Although I’ve tried to make a smooth transition from young mother to older mom, it’s mostly been a bumpy ride. It is difficult for me to leave behind sand castles and  amusement parks and young children who give spontaneous bear hugs. The teenage years don't serve up quite the same offerings.

But the feelings that I remember from past spring breaks were there with me on college campuses last week: the thrill of change, the pleasure of new surroundings, the joy of seeing my child experience something new.

I learned that if I can just let go and follow the thread that is our lives, nothing really is left behind.   It’s all still here, only in different forms.

I even managed to keep my promise and not embarrass my son. And I think that just may make me wonderful still.