I’m Proud My Son Said He Didn’t Miss Me

Without using so many words, he was telling me, “I’ve got this”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I have to tell you something,” my thirteen-year-old son said at dinner.

My husband was still at work, so it was just the two of us. We had just started eating our salads, so I didn’t think it was cooking-related.

“Okay,” I said, not at all sure what was coming next.

As Ryan pierced a slice of cucumber and pushed it around the puddle of French dressing forming at the bottom of his bowl, he said, “This is the first time I didn’t miss you when I went back to school.”

I smiled. I knew exactly what he meant.

No parent really wants to hear they’re not missed, but I also knew the larger significance of Ryan’s words. I realized the importance of his statement.

When he was younger, Ryan began every school year in tears. He’d cry lining up with his kindergarten and first-grade classes. He would continue crying inside the classroom, and my heart would break a little each morning when I left him.

I tried giving him little notes for his pocket. We packed a family photo in his firetruck lunchbox. Finally, I borrowed the method the crows used with Dumbo and gave Ryan a “magic” penny. This wasn’t just any penny; this penny had a smiley face stamped into it. I gave it to Ryan in a little baggie and told him having the penny in his pocket would help make him brave. It worked.

Ryan stopped crying, and as he got older the penny remained at home. But at the start of middle school — sixth grade in a new school where he knew no one — I could see his eyes looking a bit wet as he waited for the bell to ring that first morning. (He told us later that afternoon that while he didn’t cry, he still felt sad.)

We weren’t sure how the start of eighth grade would go. Ryan had only been at this school for a short time, from August 2019 until mid-March 2020, before everything shut down because of the pandemic. All of seventh grade was completed at home, through a screen, while Ryan sat at his desk. And although Ryan dressed in his school uniform each day, to “look professional” in his words, he was still in his bedroom, wearing his slippers.

Eighth grade was a return to campus — fully vaccinated, armed with hand sanitizer, masks, and gratitude for the opportunity to be back with his friends.

More than that, though, eighth grade was markedly different. From that first morning, when we wished him a great day, there was not a hint of sadness in his brown eyes. But I didn’t know how the rest of the school day had gone.

Apparently, the first day and every subsequent day had gone just fine. Not only that, he now had the self-awareness to acknowledge this change. And that was just the beginning.

This is the first school year where Ryan has taken control of so much of his schoolwork and school responsibilities. Partly it’s because many assignments are completed and turned in online which means there isn’t as much paper coming home. Ryan tells me he and his friends study for a history test at lunch. They get a head start on their math assignment before the first bell rings. And the work he does at home, he does independently, confident in his efforts, not asking me to proofread or double-check any of it.

Without using so many words, he’s telling me, “I’ve got this.”

The mom in me, the former teacher in me (I was an elementary school teacher for twelve years), is oh-so-proud. Ryan has totally got this. He’s learned time management. He’s learned how to break down a large assignment into smaller, manageable tasks. He’s learned to ask for help (he tells me after he emails a teacher for clarification).

I’ve given him the tools and set him up for success. All I can do is stay on the sidelines. Be ready if and when he needs any help. Later that night at dinner, over his dessert of three chocolate chip cookies (a “5-out-of-5 rating!” I was told), I got the call to action.

“Do you think you could please go to the library for me to get that book I need for English?”

Wendy Kennar is a freelance writer who has lived her entire life within the same zip code. She was a public school teacher for twelve years until a chronic medical condition made it necessary to leave her teaching career. She is constantly amazed and inspired by her young son.

Her writing has appeared in numerous publications and anthologies including the Los Angeles Times, Christian Science Monitor, United Teacher, and L.A. Parent. In addition, she is a regular contributor at MomsLA.com. She writes at wendykennar.com.