My oldest son is 14, dangling dangerously close to 15, the one year I have left before he starts driving and I feel I lose all sense of control. Seventh grade was a monster for us. Eighth grade, so far, has been remarkably less challenging. The changes I am seeing in my oldest son are astounding. Not only is he growing physically, but I can tell his mental and emotional outlook have exploded in maturity.
I recently started taking my son to the local family fitness center. He is an athlete and during the off-season for his chosen sports, he wants to maintain his strength and build his physical appearance to new dimensions. As a former athlete myself, I recognize the internal drive in him that I once possessed. He truly enjoys pushing his body to the limits and seeing the physical response as he checks himself out in the bathroom mirror two, three, sometimes four times a day. Yes, those muscles are expanding. Yes, they are noticeable. But what is more noticeable is the internal drive I see within this child-turned-young man.
This is the same child who once asked me to tie his shoes, hold his hand, kiss his boo-boos. And now, as he lifts heavy weights and I simultaneously engage in the middle-age mom workout nearby, he seems so much bigger, stronger, worlds more capable than I am. He shows me how to use the equipment. He stands by to be sure I am completing the set I started. He pays attention to my progress, because I once (continually, to be honest) monitor his.
It is such a role reversal. This coming-of-age, a young boy growing into a man. I truly miss the precious little boy years full of sweet whisperings, special bedtime stories, hugs and kisses galore, and even an occasional tantrum or two. I heard the teenage years would be rough. Really rough. It wasn’t a lie.
Yet.
There is something mesmerizing about watching my firstborn become a man, transforming right before my very watery mom eyes. He surprises me with his intellect and emotional insight. He is protective of the mother who once was extremely overprotective of him (still is, if I’m being honest). Not only that, but he is teaching me nearly as much, quite possibly more, than I ever taught him! It is a beautiful role reversal.
Teens can absolutely suck the very life out of their parents. The eye rolls, mysterious lingo, gaming obsession, social media addiction, and constant need to refuel by eating every possible food source in the house can be exhausting. But then, out of nowhere, my teen will offer sage life advice, inspire me to work hard on my body (something I used to have a passion for but lost somewhere along the way), or simply be there in the way a loyal friend knows exactly what you need without having to explain.
Seeing my son lift heavy weights, go from one machine to another, and run on the treadmill, I marvel at his remarkable physical transformation. However, the mental toughness he shows? The agility of mind, body, and spirit? That is what truly takes my breath away.
It makes those days I thought, Are we going to make it? Will the eye rolls never cease? When will ‘this too shall pass’ actually pass? fade into the rearview. Oh sure, I know the pitfalls of teenage-dom are far from over. But the maturity and grace I see in this young man, along with the monumental changes he has exhibited in such a short span of time, gives me immeasurable hope for his future. For our future. His entrance into adulthood is a journey I am fully enjoying. Sitting on the sidelines of my son’s foray into adulthood is nothing short of miraculous.
I am proud of the man he is becoming. Confident, assured, compassionate, empathetic, and kind. All the things I wanted so desperately for him to learn when he was a little guy. I certainly cannot take all the credit. He has been raised by a village of truly magnificent people who love him and constantly spur him toward excellence.
Beyond his upbringing, however, the lessons learned from Mom and Dad, or even the lessons from the hard knocks of life (and there have been plenty), my son is solely responsible for the amazing young man he is becoming. He exceeds my wildest expectations and I am so proud to say I am his mother.
We may relate on fewer levels these days, but in the gym, doing our own separate workout regimes, we are connected. Our worlds flow together in a mysterious way that requires no words. With separate goals on the forefront, we cheer each other on from opposite ends of that sweaty, musty weight room. I like to think that is how it will always be. He doing his thing, I doing mine, but meeting somewhere in the middle to rekindle, reconnect, and spur each other on toward greatness. Mother and son . . . an absolutely formidable team.
by Claudia Caramiello 
by Jennifer Vail 
