The store manager at Men’s Wearhouse saw another teen boy, one of thousands who would come this spring in hoodies and sweats, looking like they’d rather be any place else. The only thing setting us apart, I thought, was we were the first fitting of prom season and the store was unusually quiet; a benefit, I told him, to having a type-A mom.
He turned toward me and gave a slight smile, and I saw the infant wrapped in a fuzzy yellow blanket with impossibly large hazel eyes. The baby, fascinated with plastic toys in an exersaucer, who learned patience from having a two-year-old sister when he was born.
If I could go back, I’d pay attention to every single moment of his childhood
That was the year without sleep, and still, if I could go back and do it all again I would in a heartbeat. Only this time, I’d pay attention to every single moment of his childhood. Because now, it is gone.
Together we looked through laminated pictures of suits and tuxedos. The only thing on his mind, I thought, was making his girlfriend happy, by finding the necessary trim to match her dress. He studied the shades of gray with the concentration of the T-ball batter, he once was, up at the plate.
When he found what he wanted, he had the same look as the five year old singing at kindergarten graduation, “This is going to be the best day of my life.”
My only suggestion was to get the bow tie.
I thought about my son’s childhood
While he was in the changing room I thought about the first grader, who cried every day at drop off, the second grader, who always asked how my day was, the fourth grader, who won a certificate of excellence for “chillness” and the middle school student who would listen to me read stories every night until one day he didn’t.
I thought about the rock band drummer playing Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” and the high school pitcher who calmly stood on the mound in the ninth inning, when bases were loaded and the other team was ahead. The report card comments: a kind and thoughtful student, a pleasure to have in class.
By the time he came out, the store manager had moved on to other customers, so it was just the two of us standing by the full-length mirrors; him in a suit for the first time and me full of pride and regret.
I thought about my regrets
Regret for traveling nearly every week for work when he was little and often leaving before he was awake. Regret, because I used to make him go to school on his birthday, when we could have spent those days at the park. Regret because I still haven’t learned to make time stand still.
But, I have this moment, right now I thought. It would be too much to want a single thing more. “How do I look?” he asked. I couldn’t answer, so gave a thumbs up, instead. “Just like a penguin,” he said, and laughed.
And for a moment, he was here again, the little boy who ran down the steps and jumped into my arms every day when I came home from work.
Then he FaceTimed his girlfriend.
“Was I present enough? Did we enjoy enough?” I wondered.
Just another teen boy with his mom. This was everything then: the love, the sadness, the joy and the pain. This was the passage of time. Before disappearing into the changing room again, he smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
And just like that, he was here again. And then he was gone.
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