My cell phone vibrates. On the line is my boy. A sheepish sounding voice raised the question, "Mom, will you come play in the rain with me?" It's dark, it's cold. The first day or I might should say, night of February, and my son, wants me to play in the rain with him. This wasn’t normal. Had I been a prude, had I reasoned why I shouldn't (I've been sick, a lot lately, and I can't seem to feel 100%, ever it seems like) I might have missed one of the best nights of my life...but instead, I gave him an "Alright, Codeman, I'll play in the rain with you."
And then I realized I was smiling. See at fourteen, almost fifteen, my boy isn’t always concerned with doing things with me. His is a world of music, friends and skating. Sometimes it seems hard to get into that world with him. But for a time, it was him, me, the sound of raindrops pelting on our hoods, squishy footsteps, and the sound of his voice, sharing the things that are going on his world. Not a lot needed to be said on my part. This was one of those, “I know I’m here to listen not advise” times. (Well, I didn’t stay totally quiet...lol :)
Growing up is hard. Sometimes I forget, amidst the dirty clothes, the dirty dishes, and the gruff attitude, is my boy, doing his best to find his way. And while he is sorting out the good from the bad, learning to deal with the pain that comes with experiences derived from growing up, learning his life lessons, every now and then, all jumbled together, I get a glimpse a little boy playing with cars in the dirt and a glimpse of the man he is becoming.
So the next time I hear, “Will you come play in the rain with me?” without a second thought, I’ll reach for my raincoat and walk out the door...
