Though they are the best of friends as adults, there was a time when my two young sons couldn't manage to get through an entire day without arguing over something. I well remember those days of shouting and shoving ... just when I'd think maybe their fighting stage had passed, they'd start going at it again. I think all three of my kiddos would tell you that it took a lot to make me lose my cool back when they were all youngsters. I was ... and still am, for that matter ... a pretty easygoing, laid-back kind of mom. If I had a nickel for every time I said the words, "You guys just calm down and talk it out," ... well ... suffice it to say I'd be rich enough that I'd never have to work another day for the rest of my life. But even easygoing, laid-back, calm down and talk it out moms have their breaking point ... that one moment when the bickering and arguing and shouting and yelling and shoving pushes them over the edge and they head to the store and buy two pairs of red and white boxing gloves. And for those of you who are shaking your heads in judgment and saying that I was encouraging violence between my sons, I have one thing to say ... it was the freaking smartest parenting thing I ever did.
I still remember the looks on my sons' faces the next time an argument erupted between the two of them and I pulled out the recently purchased boxing gloves. They didn't know whether to be terrified of what I had in mind for the gloves or to be confident that they had the coolest mom ever ... not really on the coolest mom ever part, those boys of mine looked like deer in the headlights when I put the gloves on their little boy hands and started lacing them up. And they both looked like they might hurl when I turned them around, opened the door to the basement and calmly said, "Go downstairs and fight it out ... just don't kill each other. And don't ask me for help unless one of you is bleeding." And with that, I pushed them toward the door and closed it behind them. Let me say it again ... freaking smartest parenting thing I ever did.
For those of you who are completely appalled by my lack of compassion and supervision toward my fighting sons, let me assure you that once I was sure my little guys were indeed in the basement throwing punches at one another, I quietly opened the door and crept to the third step of the staircase and sat down. That step was my vantage point not only for monitoring the sounds and intensity of the punches that flew between my two unwary boys, but also for hearing the conversations they had as they fought. Most of their fights didn't last very long, usually less than 15 minutes or so, and neither of my boys ever sustained any injuries ... unless you count some pretty significant beatings of their little boy man pride as injuries, that is. And just in case my sons read this evening's post, I didn't sit on the third step to spy on you guys. I sat on the step to make sure that you didn't hurt each other, physically with the punches you threw or emotionally with the words you said.
It took a while for it to happen, but eventually all of my boys' boxing glove fights ended in the same manner. One of my sons ... and no, I won't tell you which one ... would always say, "Okay, okay ... you win." For a long time, I worried about my son who always bowed out of the fight by conceding defeat to his brother. I worried that he was giving up too easily and that he believed he didn't deserve to win. Many years later when I mentioned my worries to him and asked if the boxing glove fights had done serious damage to his self-esteem, he said, "Mom, I started telling him 'You win' because I was tired of getting the crap beat out of me. One day I realized I was never going to win against him because I wasn't as good of a fighter as he was. He was stronger and better than me from the start. I finally wised up and just told him he won ... I just wish I would have done it before he punched the hell out of me all those times."
I've been thinking a lot in recent weeks about how hard that is for me to do ... to come to a point when the only thing left for me to do is say, "You win." I'm sure there are plenty of you who totally get what I'm saying. You get it because you've been there yourselves ... you've experienced the gut-wrenching pain that comes with accepting and admitting certain truths in your own lives. For me, some of the hardest "You win" times center around friendship ... when I'm forced to take a step back and see a friendship for what it truly is, or what it truly is not, as the case may be. I think those may be two of the hardest choices in life ... choosing whether to stay in the fight even though you know your heart is going to get the crap beaten out of it time and time again to say, "You win," and walk away.
I'd like to believe that I'm a good friend ... I'd like to believe that I'm a friend people are proud of ... I'd like to believe that I'm a friend people enjoy spending time with ... I'd like to believe I'm a friend people know they can depend on to be there for them no matter what ... I'd like to believe I'm a friend who has a kind and caring and good and honest and open and real and transparent heart ... I'd like to believe I'm a friend who would be missed if I weren't there. But honestly, I'm feeling kind of beaten up in the friendship area tonight ... tonight, I'm having a hard time believing any of those things are true. I read a quote the other day, and it seems to be a fitting way to end my post this evening ... "It hurts because it matters."
You win, friend ... or do you?
No comments:
Post a Comment