My 15 year-old son Max no longer looks up to me.
It’s one of the toughest days in the life of any father, when you suddenly realize that your little boy just isn’t so little any more. In Max’s case, a six-inch growth spurt over the past year has left him nearly a head taller than his mother and he’s rapidly closing on dear old Dad.
It all seemed funny last year, when he shot past his mother, but now, as he’s closed to within an inch or two of topping me, it somehow doesn’t seem nearly as amusing, at least to my eyes. Max, of course, is enjoying it all immensely.
It would be tough to take, if it weren’t for the fact that Max’s growth spurt has, at least, coincided with a heightened sense of responsibility. He’s not just starting to look like a young man— and sound like one— he’s starting to act like one, too.
And I mean that in a good way.
I noticed one of those little milestones of maturity recently, when I heard the sound of the lawnmower outside our office in Tower. I poked my head out the window and there was Max cutting the grass— without even being asked!
I commented to Jodi, who later mentioned it to Max. He just grunted and said he didn’t want to have to be told what to do by “The Grouch.” Okay, so life with teenagers isn’t always a bed of roses.
And as with most of us, Max has his good days and bad. One day recently, after I had asked him to cut a patch of tall grass he’d been overlooking all summer, he came back in the office with a serious expression.
“I don’t appreciate being forced to destroy wildlife habitat,” he said firmly. Turns out he’d seen a frog near the patch of tall grass, and that apparently made me the latest incarnation of BP. I suspect the next time I ask him to mow that corner of the lot, he’ll demand an EAW, if not a full blown EIS.
Like most teenagers, protest seems to come with the territory. In the end, though, Max is always willing to help out, just not without some grumbling first. He’s actually become a noticeable help around the office, having taken on some tasks that the rest of us would rather avoid. But he’s also doing more writing and photography and does a good job of it, too.
In many ways, watching Max grow up has been remarkably satisfying. While he still has his moments (don’t we all), he’s become a creative, thoughtful, and enjoyable young man with a great sense of humor, and a strong desire to do the right thing.
Which is going to make this year particularly bittersweet. In a couple weeks, Max will start his senior year (he’s skipped a couple grades, so he’ll graduate early), which means big changes are likely ahead for our family. We did a college visit earlier this summer, and Max is considering some possibilities that would mean living away from home barely a year from now.
It’s hard to imagine, actually. When he was little, everyone told us to cherish the time we had with him because kids grow up so quickly. But it always seemed to me like he’d be with us forever. Now, the prospect of an empty nest is looming, and I realize that I’m not ready.
I’m trying to find consolation in an old joke I heard years ago. Three religious men were discussing when life begins. The Catholic among them said life begins at conception. The Protestant argued that life begins when you’re born again. And the rabbi said life begins when the kids leave home and the dog dies.
I’d always figured the rabbi might be onto something. With the dog slowing down and the kid weighing his college options, I guess we’ll probably find out the answer soon enough. Ready or not.
