I’m sure we all have aspects of our private lives, or inner lives, that would surprise (to say the least) people who know us only publicly, like most of our co-workers and social acquaintances. If that’s not the perfect segue into revealing something embarrassing about my marriage, I don’t know what is. But the person I actually have in mind is my 9-year-old son Adam.
Out there in the world, Adam is the fun and funny sweet guy who likes to share his knowledge of his passions (airports and sports). He’s also a paradox of social and self-conscious. I no longer can kiss him goodbye in public. That would mortifying. I’m barely allowed to even say goodbye.
At home, though, Adam is still a cuddle monster who can be content to converse with the wonder and simpler mindedness of a 4-year-old. He especially loves physical closeness, which can be awkward and uncomfortable because he weighs almost 100 pounds. But he and I still manage to take baths together now and then, and last night he basically laid down on top of me to watch the PBS documentary about Lewis and Clark together.
This morning he awoke and walked right to our bed, though he could have stayed in his for another 15 minutes. I was in the kitchen readying breakfast, my wife was about to shower. “Come,” Adam commanded Rebecca, as if to say, “It’s time to cuddle.” Harried, she tried to explain that she needed to get in the shower. “Come,” he repeated. “It’s a demand.”
I have a 13-year-old as well, and when I think about it, she too has a tendency to enjoy acting child-like and silly when she’s not acting pre-teen.
In some elemental way, it seems that what they most want from us is to treat them like children–while my wife and I, and the rest of the world, spend more time insisting that they grow up.
