This morning I opened my emails to see three pictures of my son fiercely wielding a badminton racquet over his friend’s head. Who is that? I wondered. And when did he become such a dude?
My son will turn nine years old in November. Up until a month ago, “sweet, compassionate, sensitive, intelligent, observant, and emotional” would be the main words I would use to describe him. “Dude” and “fierce” would be the last. But something about entering third grade has changed him. Some of the changes are physical, a week ago I noticed dark hair sprouting in on his legs and his feet stink, especially when trapped in soccer cleats for the afternoon. But most of the changes are emotional. He acts aloof at times, doesn’t want to play with his sister’s friends anymore, and often withdraws into his own prepubescent world. At times the changes are both physically and emotionally apparent, such as last Friday night when I saw him sprawled out on the couch with his hand resting in the waistband of his shorts. I shuddered, immediately picturing a beer can in one hand and the remote in the other, and had to calm myself down by seeing that no it wasn’t football that he was watching, it was an Arthur movie. Phew, spared a few more years until I have to witness the full horror of that scene.
If you were a longtime family friend, you would laugh at me right about now and 1) remind me that when he was a sweet sensitive boy, I worried incessantly that he would get steamrolled by other kids and not insert his own will and 2) you would say he is still 95% compliant and sweet. And you would be right.
My son’s tendency had always been to act and behave in ways that pleased his sister and me. Although this made my life easy, it did cause me to worry that he was too much of a people pleaser and often didn’t know what he wanted for himself. Even choosing a donut at the grocery store would become too complicated for him so he would ask me which one he should have. “I’m not going to choose for you,” I’d say, “but there’s probably not a wrong choice.”
Last year his father started complaining to me about our son’s defiance. “Great!” I cheered. “I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”
“But he doesn’t do what I say anymore. Sometimes I have to ask him two or three times!” I laughed at his exasperation, knowing many parents who not only have to ask three or four times, but then also need to add threats, bribes, or punishments to the morning routine merely to get out of the house every day. I knew whatever defiance was going on at his father’s house was minor in comparison and I was thrilled that my son was showing a boost in confidence, direction, and free-will. Plus, he was still compliant and loving with me, so there was no reason to complain.
That changed a bit this fall with many, “No, I’ll do that later statements.” I’d agree to “later,” but only after I was sure he understood the consequences of his choice, “You can clean your room later, but if you haven’t done it by the time I start reading books to you guys tonight, you’re going to miss the books.” I felt we were both heard and respected, and could both be satisfied with the arrangement. When later came, he either got to hear the books or didn’t, but it didn’t turn into a battle, because the terms and agreements were made with his approval, not put upon him.
When the rains started, he refused my suggestion of taking a coat to school. Again, I reminded him that he may not be able to go to the playground without a coat, but he said he didn’t care. He was willing to live with the consequences, I was willing to look like a negligent mother, and so we left the house everyday without a battle.
I even complimented some of his willfulness and said, “It’s great that you’re deciding things for yourself more these days.” And with a laugh added, “Even if it’s not what I think you should do.” He laughed as well and sauntered off with a pleased look on his face.
I know at times he is refusing my suggestions just to spite me, but that’s all right with me. Again, he is the one who will have to live with the consequences, not me. I view it as a large step in us becoming more of a family rather than a benevolent dictatorship. By respecting most of their choices and what they say, I also ask the same from them. If it’s my turn to start sharing about my day and they get up and walk away, I tell them that’s rude and disrespectful and they need to give me the same eye contact and attention in which I gave them when they were sharing. They return to the dining room table and we remain there until everyone is done both talking and eating.
It is also a way for me to practice one of my new mantras, “Do I want to be happy or do I want to be right?” Usually, I want both, and I want the other person to be happy that I’m right. But in the case of my son, I chose our family’s happiness and his growth in confidence, over being right.

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She has been a writing coach and instructor for over fifteen years and currently sees clients in the old Carnegie Library Building in Ballard. She is currently offering a 20 for $20 special, twenty minute coaching/editing sessions for $20. Contact her for details.