Over Fool's Hill

My son is a delightful young man. He has enough charm for two people and a priceless sense of humor. He can be considerate and loving, a good companion and friend. However, he has his faults. He seems incapable of keeping a thought in his head at times. Not only must we remind him to come to Christmas at Grandma’s house, we have to remind him how to get there. And regardless of how many Christmases he spends with us there, and how many times I give him directions, he always gets lost. Never, ever give him an important piece of paper. You might as well shred it, because it is as good as lost the minute he gets it in his hand.

Even with his faults, I delight in his company anyway. His sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents all think the world of him, which makes it doubly frustrating when I have to remind him over and over that he should plan to be at his sister’s graduation, or his dad’s birthday.

He does things that make me want to scream. One year, I had to help him retrieve his car after they towed it—three different times—because he refused to buy a parking permit. Mind you, the first time they towed him cost more than the permit would have.

I asked why he kept parking in places where he shouldn’t. He never had a satisfying answer for me. His girlfriend lived on campus at the university, and he wanted to visit her, so he did. When he came back, his car usually had a parking ticket, which he promptly tore up. After a few of those, when he came back, his car had disappeared.

It makes a mother wonder when she sees the child she raised doing the same thing over and over and getting bad results every time. What did I do wrong? Surely he gets it that campus police will tow or ticket his car if he parks where he doesn’t belong. So why does he go back again and again?

Well, it turns out that he is on the slippery down-slope of Fool’s Hill. He parks there because deep in his heart he knows that rules do not apply to him. Rules are for other people. Nothing but nothing will convince him otherwise until he is ready to see.

My mother was just as frustrated watching me at his age. And nothing she could say would have made me act differently. I only ever changed my behavior when I disliked the consequences it brought me. Some things you just have to learn on your own.

When I think about my son, I have to remember that even at 21 years old, he is not really an adult. I was a child at his age, so why should he be different? He came into my life during my time on that long, tortuous road from my twenty-first birthday to adulthood.

I have been extraordinarily lucky. I have always had friends willing to tell me the truth, even unpleasant truths. One pointed out to me that although I wanted people to understand me, I put out very little effort trying to understand them. I chewed on that a long time. It may have been the first stepping-stone down off Fool’s Hill for me.

One day I told a friend of my frustration with my son. I was angry with him for not being an adult. My friend poured me another cup of coffee and said, “You don’t have to like your kids. Your job is to love them and help them stay alive until they get to the top of Fool’s Hill. After that, Life takes over and you can relax.”

I can relax. My son is a bright fellow, and he will catch on that rules do apply to him. It may take a while, but as his mother, I have the unique privilege of getting to enjoy him and getting to ignore his foolishness. I never have to say “I told you so,” because if I did tell him, he knows it. I can run into him at a coffee shop and listen to him tell me about his life and his adventures and be proud of the fine young man he has become. His lessons now are private ones, and unless he chooses to involve me, I can stop mothering a little and befriend him. I did my best. Life will do the rest.

© 2005