My thirteen year old son recently had his grade eight graduation photos taken. Now, I realize that kids grow up...but I think it's the small milestones that occur that remind us just how quickly it's happening.
In preparation for this auspicious event we discussed what he would wear and decided that his hair needed to be addressed. So, off we go to the hairdresser to make the child (pardon me, young man) presentable.
Now, I'm an army brat...so as far as I'm concerned, if a man's hair is touching his collar, it's time for a haircut. I raised an opinionated, independent, free-thinking, confident child. (Who, strangely enough, often agrees with his opinionated, mother.) But on this topic he was adamant that he wanted to grow his hair longer. Which, really is fine by me. After all... it's just hair. There could be a lot more destructive ways for him to rebel or assert his independence. So the hairdresser just "cleaned it up a little" and we put in some blond highlights.
Boys colouring their hair. This must be a sign of the times because when I was his age, boys did not colour their hair. (Hell, I'm not sure that girls my age coloured their hair.) Now in days, it seems very commonplace. It made for a kind of surreal mother - son bonding moment. I always figured that this would be the type of thing that I would do with a daughter. I never envisioned it to be something that I did with my son. Not that I'm complaining, he is my one and only and I hope that I have raised him not to have preconceived ideas about gender roles. But it's kind of like getting an unexpected bonus...like having a chocolate craving and seeing a box of chocolates, and just knowing that it's empty, preparing yourself for opening it, and seeing that it's empty, and then looking inside to be surprised that it's a beautiful, brimming, full box.
The morning of the photos he asked for my help blow drying his hair. Now, I know that these type of requests are going to be few and far between, so I enjoyed every moment of it while it lasted. He wore one of his dressy, button down shirts and his father's tie and as I gazed at him, I realized...that he's grown another inch and is now at least four inches taller than me. Funny how you don't notice this on a daily basis.
He's growing up. I keep waiting for the angry, disgruntled, teenager to emerge from my sensitive, considerate child and it hasn't happened...yet. I know, I know, my days are numbered. But a mother has to hope that the teenage angst that infects the greater population will elude her son. Maybe I will be one of the lucky ones. Maybe he will remain the sweet, abiding person with the quick laugh and the sharp wit, while the others around him cave to peer pressure, trend and rebellion. And maybe.....pigs will fly loop-dee-loops over the grand canyon next week. I know it's unlikely...but a mothers still got to hold on to that small scrap of hope.
Do me a favour and keep an eye out for those pigs.
1 hour ago