“I’m Okay. My location is 36.571312…” this automatic satellite text alerts my phone, waking me from an anxious sleep. Celebrating a milestone birthday, my son and his wife are climbing Mount Whitney, where three people passed away a few months earlier.
These programmed texts, with the global address numbers, are sent as they hike so their location can be established if something goes wrong. They have trained extensively and are well-prepared, but I worry. What else is new?
As I stare at my phone, I realize these messages are more broadly meaningful than just specifically about this particular trip.
“I’m okay” is what my relationship with my son is all about
“I’m okay” encompasses my entire parenting journey with my son.
“I’m Okay. My location is 36.571445…”
On the day he was born, he was okay – better than okay – he was perfect. Big blue eyes, completely healthy, extra-long and skinny. After years of infertility and pregnancies losses, he was here and fine, despite my fears.
“I’m Okay. My location is 36.56288…”
Throughout his early childhood, he repeatedly demonstrated he was okay. I worried about being a working mom, but he was a bright, inquisitive, and loving little boy, able to adapt on the days I worked. I worried about where to send him to preschool and then which elementary school, but he thrived in each setting.
One of his teachers sent him to be tested for the gifted program and the district personnel recommended that he skip a grade, but being on the younger side in his class, based on the district’s birthdate cutoff, we were already under pressure from relatives to hold him back, as most boys born in the same month started school a year later.
I worried about doing the right thing by my son
I worried – where would he be happy yet academically challenged? The advice-givers made it sound as if we made the wrong decision, our son’s entire life would be ruined and we would be terrible parents. My husband, the calm and steady one, reminded me that our son was exactly where he was supposed to be, not by jumping ahead or by being held back – our son was okay.
“I’m Okay. My location is 36.562336…”
As my boy entered double digits, I realized I needed to stop projecting my anxieties onto him. My insecurities and worries were influencing his emotional responses. Improving emotional self-regulation is an important skill for tweens and I didn’t want him to have the stream of my anxious thoughts in his head. I wasn’t always successful keeping my anxiety to myself, but he would push back, reminding me he was okay, even though sometimes it was really, really hard for me to rein in my concerns.
I had to learn to let my son fight his own battles
At the end of fifth grade, he loved to play handball. One day he came home, saying that he had run out to the courts at recess, only to be surrounded by a group of boys, some of them his closest friends, chanting “Freckle face, freckle face, you are a freckle face.”
He thought about what to do. Maybe run away? Maybe he should tell the yard supervisor? He thought about punching one or two of them. What he ended up doing was saying to them, “Yup – I am a freckle face. So?” They retorted by saying, “Freckles are ugly! Freckles are stupid!”
He said he stood there and just kept looking at them, repeating, “OK. So?” After a few more minutes, he asked, “Can we go play handball now?” And they all moved on, playing handball together. When he told me the story, I was fuming. I’m calling their parents! That’s bullying! I’m calling the school! I’m going to… but my son stopped me. “Mom – who cares? I DO have lots of freckles and I can’t do anything about it.
That’s what I thought about while they were saying that stuff to me. I have freckles. So what?” Nothing like this ever happened again and most of those boys remained friends through high school. Some are still in contact. He was okay, even if I wasn’t.
High school was full of worries
“I’m Okay. My location is 36.559383…”
High school. All of us worried. My son will now say, “Why did I get nervous about such stupid stuff?” And I’ll reply, “Probably because of me!”
Team tryouts, Mock Trial competitions, projects, grades, friendships, college applications – endless reasons to worry. Yet he always seemed to bounce back, able to pivot when needed. His personal cutoff time for homework was 10:00 p.m., even if he got home at 9:55. Seinfeld was always on at 10 p.m. and he said he “needed to end the day by laughing.”
Baseball was his first love, but by the end of his sophomore year, he decided that the high school baseball team wasn’t a good fit. After an especially egregious incident during a summer practice game before his junior year, my son calmly (while I was livid) walked off the field and said good-bye to that coach.
Later that evening I was surprised to learn he emailed the high school water polo coach, asking if he could still try out. Even though he hadn’t played water polo since he was eleven years old, he joined the team for the next two years. Playing only a few minutes during games, he still enjoyed being part of an athletic team and had a blast.
I had to learn to trust my son’s judgement
After some research, he started playing for a club baseball organization, outside of school. He found a way to still play baseball and was later joined by other players who subsequently also left the high school team, allowing him to continue a connection with his high school teammates and he was recruited for college ball.
While I squirmed and fretted, I was also learning to trust his judgment. I never spoke to the high school baseball coach nor called the school about what was happening, though I had good cause, because my son said he could handle it.
I still nagged about grades and other issues, but increasingly I practiced deep breathing, accepting my changing role to be one as more of a sounding-board, keeping the angst to myself and verbally acknowledging his ability to manage stressful situations. This seemed to work as my anxieties didn’t appear to infect his overall demeanor or composure and more than once, he proved that he was fine.
“I’m Okay. My location is 36.578747…”
My worrying continued…first college and then early adulting. I learned to keep my mouth shut unless I was asked for advice. Respecting the fact that he was now an adult, as hard as it was, I knew he would make his own decisions and that I no longer could do anything about the consequences of those decisions.
I worried about him when he was in college and a young adult
Was he getting enough sleep, did he know about internships, were the girls he was dating going to break his heart? Where was he going to live and who was he going to live with when he started his new job? I could go on and on but he was always one step ahead of me.
He has friends and a job that he enjoys and finds challenging. He met an exceptional young woman (through an online dating site – oh my gosh – my worries about scams and potential dangers!) and got married (and she’s the best!). They are happy and healthy. He is well.
“I’m okay. My location undetermined…”
I now have no idea where he currently is on the mountain. As he enters a new decade, he’ll be encountering new obstacles and reaching new pinnacles in his life. While I won’t have a satellite message always letting me know his progress, I have faith he’ll be okay.
Resting my fingers on this last message, I send a prayer out to the universe to keep them safe, as that’s all I can do at this stage of parenting, hoping it finds him, wherever he may be. Keep climbing, my boy, keep climbing.
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