My oldest son turns seven this week. I am terrified. How do I let this boy spread his little wings and take a few flaps? How do I instruct and correct him in such a way as to encourage growth toward manhood rather than emasculating with reactionary, punitive cruelty perfected by generations of paying it forward? How do I love him enough to cover the multitude of mothering missteps that I feel doomed to commit along the way? It is time to revisit the parenting books to find some answers.
And what of the questions the books don't address? How can I help him find where his talents lie and if he has any at all? How do I expect and educe excellence without being demanding? How do I balance honoring who he is and preparing him for success in a world that may not be so kind?
I am so in love with my first born child, so proud of his kind heart and fiercely protective when others wound him. My greatest fear is that I am the one whose actions are blighting his life. I WANT him to grow up and simply be himself and along the way if I could nudge him here and there to help him be the best version of himself then I would be happy. But I don't even know what that means.
What I do know is that I am going to make this week the best, funnest, seven-est week ever...and then we'll see about figuring out what to do with the next 51.
Go Bastchy, It's ya Birfday!
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