How to Hug a Porcupine

We worked on the project for two months. A fifth-grade research paper with supporting artifacts, visual aids and audio visual to culminate in a 15 minute in-class presentation that would make any parent proud. I edited rough drafts. Offered presentation tips. Typed a final draft. The teacher said parents were encouraged to attend, so the date was circled on my calendar for weeks. Then, driving home from school a few days ago, my 11-year old son unexpectedly blurted out: “Mom, I don’t want you to come.”

Willing myself not to react, I took a breath and calmly asked, “Why not?” Looking desperate he said “I just want to do this on my own, O.K.?” And although I feigned a quick recovery, he saw me wince, a reaction he was quick to interpret as manipulative, and fumed “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you! I knew you’d be upset!” As I bit my lip to avoid another blunder, he jammed in his earphones and spent the rest of the drive staring out the window.

I’ve blogged on this topic before and will undoubtedly do so again, since this new relationship with my pre-teen son is still unfolding. One of the more interesting changes in our relationship dynamic is that our disagreements seem wrought with gender-based landmines. Our dialogs often sound more like lover’s spats than mother/son disagreements. He plays the role of the emotionally distant boyfriend who chafes at being questioned, while I vacillate between nagging girlfriend and spurned lover who will do anything to get the guy to notice me.

On the surface, his desire for me to skip his presentation is of little consequence – I know I’m making too big a deal of it. Besides, my arguments that other mothers, dads and even grandparents have all shown up without incident have fallen on deaf ears. But it is what I read into this sudden line in the sand that pains me; the unspoken message: “Mom, you are not needed here.”

So the question of course is will I respect his wishes and stay home, or enforce my rights as a parent and show up as planned? I am undecided, but wonder if he would even notice my presence in the back of the classroom. These days, I can stand right in front of him and be made to feel virtually invisible. Poised as he is on the edge of puberty, his gaze seems permanently fixed on points in the future – a future filled with friends and freedoms that make a mother’s care increasingly irrelevant. Clinging to the childhood that is already behind him only makes me look desperate, and causes him to recoil all the more. His well-aimed barbs are strategic attempts to peel away the paper-thin layers of my parental control. I’m working on letting go.

So how do you hug a porcupine? The obvious answer is very carefully but the truthful one is, you don’t. You give it some space and bide your time. Once you’ve earned its trust, it may eventually come close enough to let you into its bristled, prickly world.

If you’re lucky.