Lucky Thirteen and Counting

I had a shitty day yesterday.  I feel like after eighteen years of parenting I should be proficient at this.   I found out yesterday that I belong in the special ed class of parenting basics.  

It started when Bronson got in the car to drive to Kate and Jazzi over to hip hop class. I was sitting in the passenger seat and smelled it the moment he climbed in.  

"Why do I smell smoke?"

"You don’t smell smoke, you smell aftershave."

"I’ve never smelled burning aftershave before."

….and then we drove in silence because he knew he was busted and I didn’t want to continue the interrogation in the presence of the little girls.  Once they got out of the car, I flipped my lid.  He admitted to smoking cigarettes and I was devastated.  I NEVER in my wildest dreams would have ever thought that my brilliant, responsible, genius child would EVER choose to do something so stupid! I told him how heartbroken and disappointed I was and that I was going to cry myself to sleep.  

I had a horrible evening.  I was sick about this discovery.  SICK!  I replayed every TV commercial I had ever seen over and over in my head.  I pictured Bronson squandering his education, bumming money for smokes, losing jobs because of his nasty habit, and finally dying of lung cancer at forty and orphaning his children.  He is going to die and it is my job to save him.  I am his mother. 

I know he is eighteen.  I know he is an adult.  I also know that I hold all the cards to his future.  So last night I decided to make it really simple.  Smokes or Tulane?  CIgarettes or Cell Phone? I sat here at the computer and did the only thing I know how to do,  I made some rules.  I typed up a contract that simply stated, NO Drugs or alcohol and your life is cush.  If you do drugs or alcohol and that includes cigarettes, you will risk losing everything.  Computer, cell phone, financial freedom, paid for college education…  You get the picture.  

I marched my printed contract into his room and sat my ass down.  "Obey and life is great.  Break my rules and your life sucks."

His response, "This is RIDICULOUS."

"Why? Why is this ridiculous?  I think smoking is ridiculous."

"I am not signing this. I think this is ridiculous."

"WHY? Enlighten me.  Debate me.  Educate me.  I want to hear why this is ridiculous and why you won’t sign it. WHY?"

…and he finally talked to me, and it was good.  We had a lovely chat about college and teenagers and parties and shit that kids do that parents probably don’t like. I agreed to ammend the rules to say "no substance abuse, no trouble with the law and still no cigarettes."

He liked it and signed it and I felt great about all of it until I went to bed.  

I HATE parenting.  

I had Brandon trying to make me feel better by telling me that the life these kids get is a privilege not a right.  That a fifty thousand dollar a year education from ninth grade through college is not something that everyone gets and deserves.  He feels like we should be able to enforce rules and regulations, regardless of their age, as long as we are providing for them. He doesn’t feel saying ‘no smoking’ is harsh, he feels it is for their own good because smoking is NOT healthy.  I agree to a point.  Because while he is speaking logic into one ear, I can hear someone else speaking in my other ear.  It’s a voice I know too well.  I have heard her voice for years.  It’s my mother.  I hear her telling me, "As long as you live under my roof, you will abide by my rules."  I hated her rules. I couldn’t/wouldn’t obey her rules and I moved myself out of her house at seventeen years old. I thought her rules were BULLSHIT!!

What if Bronson thinks my rules are bullshit?  What if they are?  Most of the rules my mom threw in my face were rules she would never enforce now.  Most had to do with going to church,  dressing modestly, not swearing, and not having sex with my boyfriends.

My sister Ali, at twenty one, is still living in my mom’s house.  She lives there with her boyfriend. My mom also has a live in boyfriend. Mom and Ali both wear short skirts and tank tops.  (Those things would have been considered immodest when I was seventeen.) Nobody goes to church and they all swear whenever the hell they want.  My point is this, my mom and I do not get along.  We rarely see eye to eye on anything.  We started butting heads at puberty and have yet to stop.  I hated her rules and called bullshit on most of them.  I don’t want to be like my mom was to me in the eyes of my kids. She was a fine mother, but ruthless in her rules. I spent most of my teenage life avoiding my mom at all costs.  I was hiding, lying, and sneaking constantly. Is this what I want for my kids?  NO WAY!

I don’t want to risk an adult relationship with my kids over something that I think is a big deal today.  What if tomorrow I don’t give a flying rats ass about smoking?

When do I stop parenting and just let him be who he is?  Maybe he is a smoker and I am trying to make him be somebody he isn’t.

I have always tried to let them be who they are and give them the freedom to find their own way.  Why is this any different?  I don’t want to push my kids away with rules, but I also don’t want to be a bad mother because I am just trying to be their friend and not a parent.  

Here I sit.  I am at a total loss.  I have thirteen more to go.  

I am waving my white flag. 

I surrender.