My oldest, who just turned 10, is at that tricky age of being aware that he is growing. There are moments when he is so excited about his growing confidence and competence, his responsibility and his newer sense of freedom. I can see him shine when he participates in an adult conversation about politics, science, or climate change. He asks questions. He shares his thoughts. He is growing into himself.
But there are also moments when he does not want to let go of childhood. These are the moments when he sits on my lap and cries. He wants to hold on to the things that make him remember his childhood magic: his favorite bedtime story, his stuffed animals, Winnie-the-Pooh, and my arms. He knows that these things of childhood contain the magic of innocence and the security of unquestioned belief.
Six months ago we knighted him (see Living Passages for the Whole Family: Celebrating Rites of Passage from Birth to Adulthood by Shea Darian), blessing him with courage and love for this time of transition. It is funny how rituals can have this power of taking us from place to place, ushering in the new, in ways indescribable. But it is equally funny how the rhythms of childhood continue to soothe.
Yesterday, as I held him on my lap while he was crying, he started the rocking. I felt like he was saying, "come on, Mom, don't you remember, I love this rhythm." In that moment I wasn't sure if he needed the rocking more than me, but whenever I tried to stop or slow it down, he kept the pace. It made me smile. I know he hasn't forgotten. Neither have I.
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