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To worry is a mom's privilege and burden

By MICHELLE MILLER
Published June 5, 2006

It's 6 o'clock in the morning Colorado time and I'm text messaging my son even though I know he's probably sound asleep, in a tent in the wilderness, with bears and other wild creatures hovering around, just waiting to pounce.

I'm especially concerned after following the feel-good news story of the week - the one about 8-year-old Evan Thompson who was finally found safe and sound after wandering in the Colorado wilderness for three days without food and water. Rescuers had been tracking him by following the trail of Spiderman sneaker footprints and molested ant hills he left along the way. After a few days, he finally called out to nearby rescuers , it was reported, after drinking water from a stream , eating a bug and hiding from the noisy helicopters in a cave.

It appears all is well for little Evan, whose next adventure was mugging for the cameras in TV Morning Show Land. End of story - unless, of course, the young lad and his guardians are savvy enough to wheedle some kind of endorsement deal pitching kids' animated footwear.

Now my son is camping somewhere in Colorado with friends and I'm worrying that I didn't prepare him enough before he went off to hike through some rather rough terrain in another part of the world.

"Don't go off the trail," I text him, adding a couple of xo's because I love him very much and don't yet know how to do that cute sideways smiley-face thing on the cell phone.

"We won't," comes the reply a few hours later, along with an "I love you." and one of those cute smiley face things.

"And be sure to wear Spiderman Sneakers - lol (laugh out loud),'' I text back, feeling a little better now that I've done my part to protect him even though I'm pretty sure they don't sell Spiderman sneakers in size 13 adult.

It's a never-ending worry - one that's been going on for a little over 23 years now.

That would be the very age of the eldest - my favorite and only son - whose grand entrance into this world forever changed my outlook.

It's then, when you're tip-toeing into their room in the middle of the night just to hear them breathe, that you realize "carefree" is a word you will never again utter in reference to yourself.

Doesn't matter that he's been working his way through college and living on his own for two years now. Or that from my vantage he appears to be turning into a responsible, thoughtful "good head on his shoulders" young adult who is not prone to risky behavior.

But then there's that "what you don't know ...,'' stuff you try not to think about too much. And all the other things that you have no control over.

Once a mom, always a mom.

And, perhaps, if we're lucky, eventually an equal.

My son and I aren't there yet. In fact, on our next birthdays he will be half my age (Go ahead and do the math - I'll be a couple of years away from getting my AARP card complete with all those discounts and the magazine with Goldie Hawn and Paul McCartney on the cover.)

Even so, the favorite son seems to be morphing into someone I can relate to in a new and different way.

I realized this after calling him a few weeks ago to seek his advice on how to deal with his 15-year-old sister who I was at war with about a commitment I was insisting she follow through with.

"Ah, 15." He remembered it well.

"Yeah, I used to feel like that, too," he told me in a grown-up way before adding. "Remember, you are the parent. It's okay to wield your authority."

"Don't worry," he assured me. "She'll come around."

I expect she might. After all, her brother's getting there.

With or without Spiderman sneakers.

[Last modified June 5, 2006, 06:15:05]