BFFs

I tell him when to be home. He texts within five minutes of the time asking for more. I deny the request and do not entertain regret. Seven is early. True. It is just getting dark. True. It is not even a school night. True.

I am not his friend. We will only be friends on Facebook so I can check up on him and monitor how appropriate it is. I know I make him angry and frustrated. I also know I cannot be his friend. He has peers to be friendly with. He has me to raise him and to see-saw with him the dramas of teen years.

I am his mother. I remember the joy of that time when we learned we were pregnant, the sheer excitement of anticipation. I remember vividly watching him grow by ultrasound holding our breath and our hopes tightly as our high risk pregnancy progressed. I know him. I trust him because he is so much me.

I do not trust the world I have given him to. I do not trust other adults who are too interested in being friends with children, in guiding them to devastating change. I do not trust this world but have given it his life so I will not be his friend. I will not be his buddy. I will be his role model, his guide and if he does not hold my hand I will not be discouraged. I will hold my hand within reach and hope he sees it ahead.

I will steer him safely to adulthood where I will be ready to let him go. I will land him there a successful confident person who will make this world a place I trust in again, a place where my child has grown good and strong and sure.

Then I will enjoy his friendship.