My teenage son left this morning on a four-hour drive up to Pine Crest.

This is a maiden voyage.

His first time driving so far for so long without parental guidance or supervision. A bunch of kids are up there camping already, so it should be fun. . . for him anyway.

But. . . for me?

A four-hour drive on that highway? The thought was killing me!
Why just yesterday didn't he decide to make a last-minute quick left turn (without looking, mind you), and nearly plow into an oncoming car?

It took hours for my heart to begin beating again!

As much as I tried to control my anxiety, it managed to ooze forth turning me into that "spastic mother," you probably know her.
The one who is controlled by perceived and imagined tragedies.
I frantically followed him around, trying to give him
whatever I thought it was that he needed to have in order to be able to survive another moment on the planet.

"Did you pack this? Did you think of that? You might want one of these!"

"Mom," he said, "Back off. I can do it."

He was right.

But without any conscious thought on my part, when his back was turned, I started packing stuff for him. A towel discretely shoved in his bag. An extra blanket folded neatly on top of the ice chest.


"Mom," he said when he finally discovered my transgressions, "if you pack up my stuff for me, how will I know what's there? I can do it."

He was right.

When I left the parenting workshop last Saturday, I casually said to the person sitting next to me, "it was worth it."

The two-hour drive home was important because it reminded me of some common sense parenting philosophy.

"Be the lighthouse," I heard the facilitator’s voice in my mind's eye.

To become my son's guide, I had to behave as a solid, grounded force.

"Be the lighthouse."

I calmed down a bit, took a deep breath. How could he stay centered and do his job of growing up if I was coming unglued all around him?

I then realized with much clarity, (finally) that the best way I could be helpful to my son was to terminate this negative feedback loop, walk away from the crime scene and support him in the manner that he loves best.

I got in the car, turned my beacon toward the nearest ATM machine and withdrew an ample supply of spending cash for him to take on this fate-less journey!

I took my time returning.

When I got back, the car was all packed. He even remembered sunscreen.

"Thanks for helping, Mom and don’t worry, I’ll be fine," he said, with a genuine smile as he folded the twenties in his pocket.

He was right!

By Rachelle Averbach

Labels: Rachelle Averbach

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