Stealing Trey

from the blog Love, Mom

As Trey's 17th birthday approaches, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic as he continues to flex his wings and prepare to fly...

Wednesday, October 6, 2004

I personally believe that even if we watch our children grow, remain observant, go to every ballgame and visit every class, we're still going to miss something.

It started with abnormally large shirts, dirty socks and too tight baseball pants. I was aware that something was up with the boy when he started asking to wear cologne and do "The Listerine Challenge." I knew he had a little girlfriend (cute as a button, she is) and that he wanted to impress her.

The only problem was, his wardrobe wasn't conducive to such big plans. He was getting the hygiene thing right: brushing his teeth, applying deodorant and bathing more than once every couple of days. Problem was, stinky socks, sweaty shirts and jeans with the tell-tale flood markers were cramping his style.

This past Sunday, I decided to go to the mall and asked him to go with me. When he came out wearing my tank top, his grandfather's shirt (that hung to his knees) his brother's shorts and a pair of socks that hadn't been washed since last year, I knew with certainty what my mission would be.

We stopped at Old Navy first. While he gravitated towards graphic-tees sporting sayings such as, "Forestry Worker" and " Homerun Derby", I headed straight for the jeans. I picked out a couple pair and then began searching for "regular" shirts amongst the basketball and football jerseys that filled the aisles.

When I presented the bounty in my arms to him and suggested that he try the items on, he grinned and said, "Shopping with you is fun."

There's a bitter taste that stings the tongue of a mother when she suddenly finds herself on the opposite side of the dressing-room door. I knew I was joining the ranks of mothers whose children have taken the step away from them by closing them out of this part of their lives.

I paced a bit while he switched from one shirt to another and happily came to the door when he called my name. Would he ask for my opinion? Should I offer some advice or should I simply stand there quietly, hoping he'd somehow let me in to check the fit of his jeans?

He answered all of those questions by asking me to get him another pair of jeans, one size smaller than the ones I had picked out, but didn't open the door. After racing through the store and finding a pair of fitted jeans size 29 x 32, I flopped them over the door and waited a few feet away.

He opened the door and the sight of him took my breath away. Standing in front of me was a different boy. He was tall, handsome and smiling broadly as he excitedly told me that the style of clothes I had picked out were exactly what he had wanted. He hugged my neck when I told him that he could have everything he had tried on that fit.

Later, as we walked the mall and visited several shops along our route, he walked proudly in the new clothes he had insisted on wearing from the store. I stole glances at him every couple of minutes while he battled within himself the desire to be with me, yet look unattached as pretty girls walked by.

I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to put my arm around him and pull him close to my side as we walked. However, my baby was no longer a baby. I had to settle with walking beside him.

Driving home that afternoon, I was feeling quite pensive as I pondered the changes taking place in the boy sitting beside me. I was lost in my thoughts, flashing back and forth between his first steps towards me and his first steps away from me. When he placed his hand over mine on the armrest, I said nothing and just enjoyed the moment.

It wasn't until he said, "Mom, this was the best day of my life," that the tears formed in eyes that were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

Mine too, baby. Mine too.