My youngest child started his freshman classes last week at a school 800 miles away from home, and for the first time in 13 years, I find myself in a unique and slightly uncomfortable position. I’m no longer the go-to for answers—his older sister is.
From Kindergarten through 12th grade, and even up through orientation and move-in day, I was his go-to for all his school-related questions: What forms do I need? Should I take this class? What do you think about this club? Do you think I should try out for this team or that team?
No question was too hard and no request went unfulfilled, because I was Mom. I knew it all.
I Made the Brownies and Had All the Answers
I was the one who read all the backpack notices in elementary school, the reminder emails in middle school, and weekly update newsletters in high school. I knew all his teachers, had the nurse’s office on speed dial, and made it my business to befriend the PTA president and/or the class mom, depending upon who wielded more power that year or who appreciated my brownies. I had all the answers, I knew who his friends were, and for the most part, I knew where he was.
But on his first day of classes, beyond compulsively staring at his schedule on his student account page, I’m in the dark. Yes, I sent an unnecessarily, emoji-heavy text first thing in the morning to wish him luck, but except for a quick “Good,” in response to my probably over-eager “How was your 1st day?” I’m not likely to know much more. For one thing, he’s still a teenage boy, which I’ve learned from experience means a lot of one-word answers to questions about his daily life, even while I’m dying for replies that are more in the form of Ph.D dissertations. The lengthy kind.
But the other reason I’m in the dark is that now he has a college-age sister who already has most of the answers, and which are probably better than mine. More important, he feels comfortable asking her the questions. As much as I miss, even fleetingly, being his go-to, I’m relieved and yes, even excited, that he’s turning to her for advice and guidance during these confusing and overwhelming first weeks.
Sibling Rivalry Turns to Trust
It was, literally, just yesterday, when they were both home for the summer, bickering and trading sarcastic barbs about who’s more stupid/selfish/spoiled/thoughtless—name your sibling potshot and insult. They are only two years apart in age, but mostly have lived their lives completely divergent from each other, even when they were in the same high school. Now, magically (dare I say gloriously?), he’s politely, humbly asking her for help, and she’s sweetly, graciously accommodating him.
Two years earlier, when my daughter left for college, I was still “go-to-in-chief.” She was our oldest, so we embarked together on the path for college. Maybe as a daughter, she was also more likely to ask her mom for help, to solicit my advice, and to ask my opinion. And I’m still her go-to, because she’s still the one experiencing all these major life events first before he does, whether it’s college, dorm-living, Greek life, internships, study abroad, or any other college-related experience.
She’s busy beginning her own year as a junior, 500 miles in the other direction from him, so I assumed she’d forget he was starting classes a few days before her. But when I called her to oh-so-casually mention that it would be nice if she texted him good luck for his very first day, she replied, “Of course—I already did.” Moreover, “He’s having a great day, he made friends on his floor, he’s looking at fraternities, he’s thinking about this that and the other club…” and on and on.
Suddenly, the tables were turned; she was a font of information and I was happy just to pick off the floor whatever crumbs were scattered my way. She assured me—as though it had been happening regularly for the past 13 years—that they’ve been in frequent touch and she was helping him with all his questions.
“Don’t worry Mom, he’ll be fine. I’ve got it covered.”
I smiled when I put down the phone, and was so thankful, even while realizing that I wasn’t needed quite so much anymore. But that’s okay. Come Thanksgiving, they’ll be back to bickering over the contest between white mashed vs. yams with marshmallow, and I’ll be thankful then, too. It’s all good.