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A single friend called in tears. Her 17-year-old son left for a summer job then on to college in the fall, he’d left the nest. “I held it together until I dropped him off at the airport and then I collapsed” she said, “Now I’m a mess I’ve been crying for the last two hours.
“Did you cry in front of him?” I asked.
“No, I wanted him to know I’d be ok.” She answered.
“Are you?” I asked.
“No, I’m terribly sad, I already miss him.” She replied. Long ago the men came and forcibly took the boys away. When a boy made himself ugly and silent the men noticed and understood. It signaled time to present the challenge that would transform a boy into a man. It was time to cut the cord.
A Mother’s job was to protest. Understanding the men would come some day and the ritual marking the end boyhood was necessary. Whether her heart was in it or not she was expected to cry, wail, resist and most important, let go. A boy is better prepared to face the world if he knows his Mother loves him and is confident leaving will not kill her. The end of boyhood is difficult. It’s common for a Mother to feel both relief and sadness.
I made myself ugly at sixteen, sullen, quiet and secretive. I resented parental control and yearned for my independence. I stayed out late every night and refused to do chores. No men came for me so I took matters into my own hands.
I sat across the kitchen table from my mother and announced, “I rented a room in a house near downtown. I’m moving out.”
Once the initial shock passed she looked me in the eye, “Are you sure? This is the one time in your life when you needn’t worry about bills or responsibilities and are free to spend the money you earn as you please. It’s your choice, pay rent, buy your own food if that’s what you want. You’re my son and you’ll always have a place here, however if you return you must abide by my rules.”
I did move to a rooming house with a bunch of older single men. I worked, paid rent and ate a steady diet of cereal and tuna fish sandwiches. I was fortunate my Mother understood what I needed and was wise enough to know I had to grab it myself. She worried about me but kept it to herself and we both survived.
Even so, I wish she had cried or that men had come for me. Too many boys wander alone into the world uncertain they are loved.
This story has been republished to Medium.
Photo credit: iStock