13 and 47, and Male Bonding

The Boy turned thirteen today and next week I turn forty-seven. His due date was my birthday but he arrived a week early, with the same birthday as Queen Elizabeth. I was talking to my dad and he remembers being thirteen. I told him about a mini-meltdown the Boy had last weekend.

"This is a big year," he laughed. "I remember puberty. Lots of changes."

In many cultures, there are rituals for boys at this age. The Boy has a few Jewish friends who have had their Bar Mitzvahs. Those kids studied for months and then had a big party. I am sure the boy was looking at the new iPhone that one of his friends got for his Bar Mitzvah, and overlooked the years of Hebrew school.

The boy wants a cell phone for his birthday. I was tired of nagging him about his homework, and didn't want another devise to compete for his attention. He has his own computer for his homework, which is bad enough. A few months ago, we checked his browser history and we discovered he was watching Dr. Who in the middle of the night. While the content was not questionable, the 1:34 a.m. video watching was, not to mention it violated the "no computer in your room" rule. No wonder he was a crabby jackass in the morning. Miraculously, when we kept his computer downstairs, he was in an infinitely better mood in the morning.

I told the Boy that he could have a phone if we could go three weeks with him taking initiative on his homework without me nagging him. It was a vicious cycle for both of us. "You don't like to nag me, and I don't like to be nagged, so let's stop it," he said.

But it didn't work. Fearing failure to live up to his end of the bargain, the Boy became more tense. He felt apart towards the end of Spring Break. I was in no mood to have another device that would be a non-productive source of distraction.

Jack was a bit more gentle. "Should we get him a phone?" he asked me.

"No way," I said. "Forget it. What do you think?"

"Well..." he said, being noncommittal.

This week, Jack talked to the Boy. "Do you think your mom wants you to have a phone?"

"Probably not," the Boy said "She probably thinks I acted like an asshole this weekend." He seemed remorseful for his less than stellar behavior.

"Why do you want a phone?" Jack said.

"So I can text my friends," he said. He rattled off the names of classmates and boys on his soccer team, all nice fellows. He was feeling left out. As much I would prefer my son to have real life friends instead of virtual and digital friendships, I can see where he would feel disconnected.

Jack reported this conversation back to me. "I am thinking maybe we could take him tonight to get a phone," he said. "At least he didn't make up some lie about wanting a phone for safety. He says he wants a phone so he can text his friends."

I relented. If Jack was okay with it, I suppose I could be, too, even though I'll be the big bad monitor. After school, I told the Boy that his Dad would take him to get a phone when his homework is done. I decided their trip to the Apple store would be a male bonding experience.

My forty-seventh birthday is coming up, without any fanfare, milestones or hype. No puberty for or rites of passage (unless heaven forbid the other M comes my way.) In some ways, I feel the same as I did when I was thirty-five or forty. Today, the Boy said birthdays are overrated. I disagree for anyone under thirty. Each year is so different, but as an adult, the years thankfully start to feel the same, with fewer or no major adjustments or changes. I was reading Alexander McCall's Smith's retelling of Jane Austen's Emma the other day. There is a line where Emma graduates from school, and feels as if it is the end of the world. In a sense, it was the end of the world that she knew. As an adult, milestones aren't that often--maybe moving to a new city or getting a new job, getting a divorce or seeing the kids leave the house to go to college. We don't have new things every year, or just because we are forty.

Today, though, I felt old. I don't mean i felt old when I thought about the numbers on my driver's license, but I felt what I expect it would feel like to be old. Yesterday, I was gardening with a college student who has helped us out of the past year and a half. She helps with odd chores and keeping an eye on the kids. I was not in pain, and my mobility was getting better. As I was walking up the twenty-two steps to the house, I felt like I was eighty. I was reminded of a few older people I've seen around the neighborhood. They can walk fine and get mourned, but maybe they use a cane, or walk slowly. They might have a limp, or a stiffness that prevents them from bending over. I reminded myself of those folks. Bizarrely, I felt better after that. At least those people are outside and getting around, I thought. So can I.

Speaking of the elderly, today is Queen Elizabeth's 90th birthday. I saw a picture of her taken by Annie Leibowitz. The Queen is standing on steps outside surrounded by her dogs. She has one leg on one step and one leg on another. A casual observer might not notice that or think anything of it, but I noticed. The photo said, Here is a ninety year old woman who climbs stairs. She is able-bodied and spends time outdoors. I should be so lucky one day.