The Rite of Childhood
So this evening I called my son downstairs to get my work bag for me. No, it wasn’t in the car or in another room. It was on the other side of the couch I was sitting on.
Yes, it was pathetic of me to call my son downstairs to get MY bag for me; and even more pathetic because it was probably less than 5 steps away. I did it because I’m initiating him into the Rite of his Childhood.
We’ve all been made to do it. We hear the call, rattling off the walls of our room. “Mom is calling me; it must be important!” We race down the steps to heed her call. We arrive at where she is, only to find that she is sitting on one side of the couch and the remote is on the other and she needs us to get it.
But I did it. Because as my mother used to say, “I carried you for nine months, the least you can do is get the remote for me.” Eventually, I understood. Mom made the sacrifices for me for many years, and although I was never happy with the fool’s errand runs, I grew to serve and honor her. Mainly because she deserves it, likewise because I want to be an example to my children.
Thus my call to my son. Let him remember the sacrifices I’ve made for him so that he’ll have no problem helping his Momma out. And let him go out of his way to be an example to his children; so that one day they may partake in their Rite of Childhood.
