Mother’s Day and Happy 16th Birthday

My son turned 16 today. And it is Mother’s Day.

The kid who turned me into a mother 16 short years ago just turned 16 today. Can you stand it?

I can’t. We bought him sweatpants and sweatshirts. Like we bought him so many sweatpants and sweatshirts that I’m not sure what drawer they’ll all fit in, some with a cool brand name embroidered on them, and a few with the names of various lacrosse teams emblazoned across the chest. Because while he would have likely preferred expensive sneakers (and honestly, probably a car) what he needs is clothing that will cover his body and then still cover his body in two months despite the fact that he grows somewhat taller and significantly more muscular every time the moon waxes and wanes. 

He received a birthday card from the teacher who had my children walk around the sun rug on the floor in first grade as I read his life story–And when you were one year old you did this, and when you were two years old you did that, and when you were three years old you started to love this…–until we’d reached his current age and my voice was all chokey because how could he be so old as to be a 1st grader anyway?!

So this morning I awoke early and I drove the girls to their lacrosse game and then dashed off to the 14-year-old boy’s game to watch him play. And all the way across the field I could see my newly minted 16-year-old on the sideline coaching the defenders on his brother’s team, talking in a sort of manly way to his old lacrosse coach, the guy who ran out onto the field when my son scored his very first goal in first grade just so he could snap a photo. That was a momentous event that took the whole season to happen all those years ago because just as my son was always a lefty–like at three months I told his pediatrician he was a lefty–he was also always a defender. In all honesty there weren’t that many goals that happened in the intervening years. Because, defense. But I’ll tell you this much. I spent most of the day yesterday watching him play for both the junior varsity and the varsity high school teams he aspired to all those years ago. (And the highlight for me may just have been when he slipped away from the bench at halftime to quickly give me a one-armed hug as I walked by.)

First goal, circa Spring 2014

I was at a loss of what else to get him for his birthday that would feel weighty enough for sixteen years old. I don’t think I remember anything about my 16th birthday besides the general awkwardness and feelings of “Is this it?!” I feel like there was a gathering of a couple friends at my house before we headed off to a dance at my high school. But I can’t imagine what dance. And I remember my high school boyfriend showing up with earrings for me, but I think we didn’t start dating until I was seventeen. And would we have gone to a dance dressed so casually as I remember? And “Funky Cold Medina” somehow figures in this memory but that song wasn’t released until March 1989, a month after my 18th birthday, so clearly, none of these memories can be trusted, the only certifiable detail being Tone Loc who has proven that in fact, my whole 16th birthday was just a mishmash of meaningless, forgettable lies. 

No wisdom was gained. None of it has stuck. There are no memories.

How in the world will my son hold onto any of this?

When my nieces turned 16 my sister sent out an email asking us to send them words of wisdom or recollections or birthday wishes that my sister then assembled into a binder for them. But that just seemed too complicated for the kind of month I’ve been having.

So for my son, like a week ago, because I never do things in a timely manner, I sent out a request to friends and family for a little video something for my son. And unbelievably, despite the late date and my disorganization and people’s very complicated lives, all but one of the many people (and quite a handful extra people, by the way, thank you to my son’s old lacrosse team who sent me a sweet, funny, dear montage of clips) sent me videos.

The younger siblings in my household had their doubts.

“Oh my god. He will be mortified if you ask his friends.” To which I replied, “I’ll just ask their parents then…”

And “Oh my god. Do not ask anyone from school.” To which I replied, “How about I only ask people who knew him when he was a little kid?” And so on.

The final video, edited by my older daughter under duress, runs just under 20 minutes.

Can you imagine? Like a bizarre, homegrown, live action video rendition of “Now you are one, now you are two, now you are three…” 

My brother-in-law told my son to be a man of his word. My sister remembered praying for him to be born. My niece told him not to wish away a minute of his life looking forward to the next thing, but to be in the present (even as she admitted that “if ‘the present’ includes med school, it sort of sucks”). Someone put on a unicorn costume complete with heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses and danced ferociously. Two of our family friends reminded him to bring them extra seltzers (or beer) when he comes down to the beach and to “Wrap it up” (I’ll let you decipher what that might mean to a 16-year-old boy…) My mother told him to shoot for his dreams but to have a back up plan and to be prepared to make decisions carefully because he would live with the consequences, heartbreakingly, just like she did. She said she believed he would make good choices.

Rose-colored glasses and a birthday video, May 2023

It was awful and wonderful and raw and beautiful. It was turning 16 years old, writ large. My son, likely because he loves me and probably not because it was true, told me the video was his favorite thing today. Either way, I hope he keeps it forever, long after some of the voices of us old people have ceased.

Last night, writing out his card, I caught myself wishing for the 3-year-old with stout legs flying down hills on his strider bike, or the 5-year-old who zipped around the cove by himself in his tiny kayak, or the 12-year-old playing Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. That niece of mine would probably tell me to stop looking backwards, wishing for a return to older times that probably weren’t any simpler anyway, just as she insisted my son not rush ahead.

Be in the present, she’d say. 

So in the present, which was tonight, we went out to eat. He tagged the paper-covered table with the crayons they gave us and shared my raw oysters with me saying that they tasted like the ocean just like I always say they do. He didn’t get embarrassed when I told the waitress it was his birthday so that he could get a free dessert (and so that everyone in the room would sing happy birthday to him, despite them all celebrating their own Mother’s Days). 

Leaving his mark, May 2023

It is nearly midnight now and I hear him overhead, shuffling down the hall to bed. I begin to think that I do not remember the last time I read him a story before bed despite the fact that for thirteen years at least, I read to him every night…, but I heed my niece’s advice, hold the longing in my heart at bay, and stay in the present just now.

It is Mother’s Day. And the beautiful, strange, complicated, strong, kind, clever boy who made me a mother over a decade and a half ago turned 16 today.

Happy Birthday.