The Straight and Narrow

There's no denying it — it's comforting to know that Sam is a Rules Follower through and through. "Strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth unto life," said Matthew, and if there was ever a kid who lived his life on the straight and narrow, it's Sam. As far as we can tell, his moral compass has never led him to consider breaking a rule or even fudging a guideline. That puts his parents in an enviable position, I know.

But where will it leave his friends, I wonder? And when will Sam realize that those who live in the grey scale won't always appreciate his black & white perspective? Especially when he acts on it by taking a stand against them.

Well I remember learning those harsh lessons myself through my school years. When I was in grade 2, I tattled to the yard duty teacher about a few grade 8 boys who were smoking in the back corner. She named her informant and — during the very next recess — I was threatened (held up dangling against the brick wall) to mind my own business. Wasn't school yard smoking everybody's business? It's against The Rules. (In my upset, I wished ill will towards that duty teacher and she was struck and killed by a car right in front of the school later that month. For a while, I was terrified of my unearthly powers.)

A few years later, in grade 7, I didn't hesitate to name the offenders who basically threw a ticker tape parade in our classroom when the teacher was called away to the office. I didn't care what those dumb boys thought of me, but it never crossed my mind that Tobi Boland (crush) would brand me a snitch and avoid speaking to me for what felt like 300 years. Even my girlfriends rolled their eyes at me. I ratted out boys. I remember thinking, "What is wrong with you people? We're good. They're bad. Why should we all get in trouble?"

So far, Sam is negotiating minor league family politics. He tells on his cousins, yes — but for whatever reason no one has called him on it. Maybe because they've grown up alongside the boy who played cop to their robbers. Check this out... (May 2005 - 25 months)

It's kind of handy, to be honest, to know that the boys won't get up to any trouble without a full report from my hall monitor of a son. He double checks in person (not trusting a mere shout out from the kitchen) that yes, they can watch four pre-approved song parodies on YouTube. If a fifth one is loaded, down comes Sam. "Is it alright if...?" He's like walking, talking Parental Controls. It's awesome. And when there is a squabble, Sam can usually be counted on to provide an impartial play-by-play. "No, Carter didn't mean it: totally an accident. Anabel is over-reacting." We can count on Sam. He's a "good kid."

But one day someone his age is going to complain and the others will nod in agreement because he's been refusing to push boundaries and test limits and partake of the thrill of getting away with something he shouldn't be doing. And then what will he do? Will he redraw his lines to protect his friendships? Or will he alienate himself and wait out his peers? I worry only because I remember "Square Ger," the boy who wouldn't stop tattling. He played alone at recess.

Me? I didn't do the things most of my friends did as they moved through their teens—never snuck out the window in a toga, drank out of my parents' liquour cabinet, pretended I was at a sleepover at so-and-so's when I was actually at a toga party. Drunk. But I stopped telling on the people who were. If there was no clear and present danger, it wasn't my beeswax. And somehow that worked for me. I was a good girl, but not a Goody Two Shoes. It's a fine line.

Sam hasn't had to walk it yet. I hope he's as strong as he seems to be when that day comes.

Doing Privacy

“Can you please give me some privacy?” is a rather new request of Sam’s. When he’s getting changed for school while watching morning cartoons (in our room!), he’d like me to busy myself elsewhere. When I’m washing my face or putting on make-up in the washroom, he dances in the hallway asking if he can interrupt me rather than using the facilities while I’m in there. Even the much-loved towel hug after baths has fallen out of favour in recent months. I have to knock before entering so he can cover up.

Normal, I suppose.

But I was stunned last week to hear Sam shut Carter out of his room near bedtime. Cousin sleepovers had long meant a joint tub, clothes strewn in all directions, followed by a naked scamper up the stairs for pj’s or fresh undies to sleep in. Or, as pictured here, a towel-wrapped game of hide and seek in the cubby. Well, maybe that was just the once….when they were 2.

Nevertheless, this was obviously something that had been discussed. Skipping the tub that night, the boys headed straight to the bedroom for pj’s. At the top of the stairs, Sam whirled around on Carter and said, “Remember? We’re doing privacy now. So you stay here while I get changed and then I’ll come out and wait for you to change.” Doing privacy? “Oh ya,” Carter replied, recalling some agreement I was not privy to. When he cracked the door open for a progress report a few minutes later, Sam called out frantically, “Don’t come in! I’m completely naked!”

Is that it then? No more completely naked? Because I don’t want the wild abandon of childhood to be over already. Running buck naked through the sprinkler, sharing a sloshy tub with Carter, changing for bed in fits of giggles. Not that Sam’s suddenly ashamed, but this different awareness of his nakedness seems too much like the fall from innocence. Like he’s edging away from the free and open expression of himself and towards a more adult consciousness that is, by comparison, inhibited and concealed. Private. It was hard to imagine back when we were bathing and swaddling him on the kitchen counter in the Lisgar apartment, but our boy is developing a private life.

And that newly closed door between us makes me a little sad.

SS 2009

As a P.S. to the last post, here are a few photo highlights from SENSational Sunday 2009....

SENSational Sunday

Now that we've done it twice, SENSational Sunday has become a family tradition — or at least that's what Sam would have you believe. He's a seasoned pro at the concourse games, he and Sparty Cat are tight, and he rubs shoulders with pro hockey players. He and Brian Elliott shared a personal convo after this photo was shot. They didn't get as far as discussing Elliott's shut-out of the Bruins last weeked (31 saves), mind you. It went sort of like this: "Good season!" "Thanks, Buddy!" Nice.. :)

We didn't bring skates this year, as the boys are a little rusty ... and Jeremy is in B.C. visiting Grandma Ashe, so the highlights were all on the concourse. The two played on many an inflatable game—Twin Peaks (rock climbing), The Equalizer (tug-o-war), ??? (giant slide). They also measured their slapshot speed (Carter: 45 mph, Sam: 22 mph), had a go at the strong man's High Striker, braved the Tippy Ladders, had their caricatures drawn, and got Sparty's autograph, all the while eating their weight in chocolate. Who doesn't love SENSational Sunday?

Last year, we lined up to meet Bobby and Dennis Hull (there was no Sens players line-ups, as the H1N1 virus scare was at its peak), but the boys were not to be coaxed into lining up to meet Phil Esposito this year (Who?). Sorry, Phil, but there's a tie-breaker to be played on The Equalizer... (Carter broke it, then Sam conquered the mountain. It's all good.)

Three and a half (noisy) hours later, we called it a day. The whole thing is put on free of charge by the United Way and the Senators as a thank you to the GoC's Leadership givers to the campaign. So long as we continue to support Sam's school, we'll get invited back for an afternoon of treating Scotiabank Place like our personal playground. The boys are already making plans for next year. Skates (and Jeremy!) included.

On His Own

This weekend, Sam suited up in his warm clothes, snapped on his bike helmet, and headed off to play at the park around the corner. By himself. Okay, not entirely by himself—he was with Carter, James and Charlie. But he wasn’t with me. Or his daddy. “Will there by any grown-ups there?” he asked, in a voice that struck such a fine balance between enthusiasm and trepidation that I wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. “Soon, yes. We’ll come over with the dogs in a bit, but you can head there on your own first.”

(Gulp) And there he goes. Photo snapped by Daddy.

We’ve been working towards this tiny nudge from the nest for the whole summer. He’s been able to leave the park ahead of us, rounding the corner out of sight (and delighting in arriving home alone, his bike already stowed in the garage before we’re even on the street). He’s been told over and over how to cross Lexington right from the end of our street rather than on the bend near the park. To look both ways. To commit to crossing once he’s started into the road. Cars cutting through the neighbourhood sometimes take that corner too fast. Way too fast.

But, it’s time. He’s 7 and a ½ .

Last May, during his annual check-up with Dr. Munro, Sam was quizzed about his freedoms. “Do you walk your dog?” Yes, says Sam. “On your own?” Well, sometimes I get a head start and go a few driveways down the street before my mom or dad comes. “Do you ride a bike?” Yes, says Sam. “Around the block?” Well, no. I can go a few driveways up or down the street. At which point my trusted doctor turns to me and says, “He’s growing up, Mom. Doesn’t have to be watched every minute of every day.”

Ouch. Did she suspect me of being a “helicopter mom,” hovering overhead to protect my precious one & only from real and imaginary dangers? Failing to teach him the street smarts he’ll need to be a capable, responsible, trustworthy kid? Acting as a buffer between him and the cruel, cruel world so he never develops the inner resiliance he’ll need to get back up when life knocks him down? In short, did she think I was raising a Mama’s Boy? Yeesh.

Now Sam hasn’t exactly been clamouring for more autonomy, for the right to stretch his own wings and fly his bike around the block without us. He seems happy with the middle ground. He braved Walt Disney’s Space Mountain last January, and then he happily rode out of the park on his Daddy’s shoulders. He doesn’t panic when he loses sight of me in a busy mall, but then he also doesn’t object when I take his hand in the busier parking lot. He’s growing up fast, but he’s still comfortable with being treated as though maybe he isn’t.

Which is why, perhaps, he was heading back to the house on his own when Janey and I rounded the corner towards the park with Anabel and the dogs this weekend. “Wow! That took forever! I was just making sure you were still coming” he called out. It had been 15 minutes. He seemed happy to have had the chance to go on ahead of us, but happy nonetheless to spot us coming. Not a Mama's Boy. Just a little kid getting used to the idea of taking responsibility for himself. It'll take us a while to get used to it, too ... the notion of our own "Peep" out in the big, wide world of the local playground.