Pink Starbursts
BY MELISSA FACE
Photo Courtesy | Melissa Face
It started about a week ago. I noticed a bag of pink Starbursts on my kitchen counter, and my husband, Craig, said, “They’re Evan’s. He bought them with his own money.”
We always have candy in the house, and we buy more when we’re planning a movie night. Tonight we’re watching Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules. It’s based on the second book in the series, and I’ve been reading them so I can talk with my son about the characters and his own entry into middle school life.
But when we popped our popcorn, filled our drinks and gathered on the sofa, I noticed there weren’t any Starbursts.
“Evan, where is your candy?” I asked him. “Get your Starbursts so I can have a couple.”
Evan looked at his dad, his eyes pleading. He was asking his dad to cover for him.
“We have other candy,” my husband said. He passed a box to my daughter; she handed it to Evan, and Evan gave it to me.
“Have some Hot Tamales,” Craig said. “I can’t eat all of them.”
The movie was pretty funny, even though it strayed from the book in spots, but that’s how it goes. I liked that Evan and I were able to talk about the differences we noticed in the movie and that I could share this experience with my son. I thought I had found another way to be close to him. I had no idea that he was already beginning to shut me out.
“Evan bought the pink Starbursts for a girl in his class,” Craig told me after the kids had gone to bed. “They are a Valentine’s Day present.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“No. There is a girl he likes in his class.”
“It’s not time for this yet. It’s too soon. He’s only eleven. And he makes gagging noises when couples kiss on TV!”
“He’s messing with you,” Craig said. “And it’s just a bag of candy.”
It wasn’t the candy that bothered me. It wasn’t that he was showing interest in a girl. It was the fact that everyone in the house knew about this change except me.
I’ve prided myself on having a close relationship with Evan. I have listened to his concerns about friendships, supported him in various activities, and made sure everyone who ever cares for him is sufficiently trained in using an epi-pen.
We are connected.
I sat up with him when he had the flu; we snuggled each morning throughout the pandemic, and walked together every evening. We even started our own mother-son book club and read Superfudge and Where the Red Fern Grows.
But things are changing, and he is leaving me out. This is how it begins, and I have to stop it.
A few days later, I drove Evan to his Thursday night hip-hop dance class.
“You know you can tell me things,” I reminded him.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Seriously,” I said. I parked my car and turned around to face him.
“I need for you to tell me about your life, even if you hold back some of the tiny details. Just don’t leave me out of the loop.”
His expression changed, and I could tell he knew that I knew about the Starbursts.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was just afraid you would embarrass me.”
I promised him I wouldn’t embarrass him, and I will do everything I can to keep that promise. We’re on the cusp of adolescence, and there are so many trials ahead of us. I want to be able to help him make good, safe decisions, and I can’t do that if he shuts me out.
In my sixteen years of teaching high school students, I have known a lot of parents who were clueless about their teen’s social lives. I know that can still happen to me; this could just be an appeasement, and Evan is telling me exactly what I want to hear. I know I could still end up in the dark, but I won’t go there quietly. I will fight for my leading role as Mom in this parenting production.
Photo Courtesy | Melissa Face
The other night, Evan got sick and came into my bedroom to tell me. I dug through my purse for some Zofran, gave him a dissolving tablet, and grabbed his National Geographic 5,000 Awesome Facts book. He read to me about Alaska and arctic wildlife. I told him about harp seal pups, and we looked at pictures of them on my phone.
“Oh my gosh! I think that’s the cutest animal in the world,” Evan said.
“I agree. Can you believe that their moms leave them while they are still babies?”
“No way!”
I showed Evan my phone and he read about mama harp seals leaving their pups as soon as they learn how to swim and can fish for themselves. They leave their babies behind so they can mate with another male.
“Wow,” Evan said. “That’s really sad.”
It is sad, but it’s also part of nature – the growing up, the pulling away, and the leaving. Mama seals do it; teenagers do it, and Evan will, too.
But not tonight. Tonight he is my eleven-year-old little boy who needs me to read with him, offer him flattened ginger ale, and distract him from the nausea. He needs his mom, and I need my child.
We went to the doctor a few days ago because he wasn’t bouncing back as quickly as I thought he should. His eyes were droopy and he was still running a low-grade fever.
Even though he was tired, he still said he had a good day.
“Oh yeah? What happened?” I asked him.
“Well, Keri waved to me as I was leaving lunch,” Evan said.
“That’s great!” I said, my tone far more excited than warranted. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”
Of course I was glad that Evan was happy about the girl waving to him, but my real joy came from our conversation. He let me into his world and told me how he was feeling. For now, I’m back on the inside. And I’m holding on for dear life.
MELISSA FACE is the author of I Love You More Than Coffee: Essays on Parenthood and a 25-time contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. She writes regularly for Tidewater Family Magazine and Richmond Family Magazine and teaches English at the Appomattox Regional Governor’s School for the Arts and Technology. Follow Melissa on Facebook and Instagram @melissafacewrites.