I feel another confession coming on. Here’s the thing: I care what people think. To a fault. Actually, I don’t think this is news to you if you’ve read any of the previous posts.
As I mentioned before: I was am a joiner and a people pleaser. Sadly, I have never really done anything just to be different.
And yet, at the same time, I very much believe in people’s rights to express themselves. I don’t care who they love or want to marry. I think it’s awesome when girls want to play football and boys want to dance on Broadway. I’ve seen bright pink hair look really cool on some girls and I kind of had a weird crush on that guy in Blink 182 with the lip ring. (Ok, maybe that should have been the confession portion of this post.)
So all of that is great in theory but here is the thing I’m struggling with: the realization that my kids are their own people. And they have ideas of their own. They are still little dudes, but it is not hard to project just a little down the road where they are no longer easily swayed by my direction and influence. They will want to do/wear/be things whether I like them or not–hell, let’s be realistic–they will likely do/wear/be these things precisely because I don’t want them to.
So while I like the idea of other people doing wild and crazy things to express themselves, I really like the idea of my kids being happy and healthy guys that follow the straight and narrow and skip along on the sunny side of the street.
I know that is crazy talk. I should want them to blaze new trails and go where no man has gone before carving out their place in history and sucking all the marrow from life (or whatever that expression is). Carpe Diem!
I want that, too, but in a nice, quiet don’t burn bridges or piss people off kind of way. By my very nature, I want everyone to like me–and in turn them. Or like them and, in turn, me. Oh yikes, this is sounding nuttier by the minute.
As the oldest, Big F will likely be the first to test the waters. All of this is top of mind because we went shopping this weekend and F. is dying for a blue blazer. He wants a “suit jacket” to go with his dress shirts and ties. Yeah, you read that right. F. loves to wear ties. So far so good, right? Doesn’t get much nerdier or safer than that.
My husband and I jokingly call him Alex P. Keaton because he wears ties to school, to the grocery store and if we go to someone’s house for dinner, well, he has to “look nice.” I’m not sure where he got the idea that wearing ties is cool but he begged us for some ties last Christmas and the love affair is showing no signs of stopping. In fact, he upped the ante this weekend by adding a suit jacket to the wish list.
Surprisingly enough, as I just made the case for raising three nerdy, bland boys that go along to get along and don’t cause waves, I have been actually hesitant to grant that wish. I found myself trying to steer him away from the blazer when my husband stopped me, asking something very close to:
“Why not let him wear a blazer if that’s what he wants?”
Huh. Wow. Good question. It doesn’t hurt anything to let him wear a shirt, tie and blazer every day if that’s what makes him happy. And boy, does it make him happy! He beams from ear to ear when he dresses up; he just thinks he looks awesome. He can’t stop checking himself out in the mirror.
So what if it’s not what I had in mind?
- My problem #1–giving up control and coming to terms with my boys as their own incredible individuals.
- My problem #2–realizing it is not about me. It is about F.
So what if none of the other kids are dressed for dinner at the country club?
- My problem #3–overcoming my own need/desire/history of blending in and being part of a group. Time to embrace individuality, not just in theory but in reality.
Yay for not caring what other people are wearing! Yay for being confident in your choices! Yay for not just going along with the crowd!
F. is expressing himself and I’m going to have to learn how to be okay with that and how to let my kids be who they are–not who I am or who I think they should be. Today we are talking about a first grader dressed to work in a bank or an insurance office. Tomorrow it might be long hair or painted finger nails or a handlebar mustache. Doesn’t really matter if it is blue blazers, purple hair, or green tutus.
I have to be okay with it. That might be my trickiest, and most important, job of all.
