It's possible this project will result in a man

So my 15 year old walks to the car from his scout meeting (and no, I am not going to apologize for the fact that my son is in scouting nor go into detail about why his troop is actually a good one and the boys his age make it all look, well, cool; nor is there any homophobic pro-Christian racist militaristic crap that smells bad enough for my Unitarian-raised liberal-minded fairly sensitive to the suffering in the world and trying to make a difference but for god's sake I'm human and therefore sometimes lazy and even selfish nose to smell).

So my 15 year old walks to the car from his scout meeting, looking perplexed by something. (I also have to say he is growing so fast that he seemed perceptibly taller after two hours out of my sight. He had to duck his head down to look through the passenger window at me as he approached.) He swung himself into the seat and said,

"I won an award."

We looked at each other in surprise. 

"For what?" I asked, but nicely.

He explained that he had won the Red Pencil, which is an award even I, with my lackadaisical approach to parenting a scout, recognized. It's given when a boy demonstrates leadership without being asked. 

I told him I was proud, but secretly thought to myself there must have been some mistake. The boy I collected from his weekend camp out the other day leaned sleepily against the trailer as all the other boys, including my younger son, busily unloaded grubby, heavy bins of equipment, ignoring my son's lack of physical assistance. When asked to detail his role in the job, he looked at me wearily, the way a general looks at a private who just asked the world's most ridiculous question. "Giving direction is part of pitching in, Mom."

Tonight I drove him home from the meeting and as we pulled into the garage (and by the way I keep forgetting to mention I am one of the few people in New Jersey who uses her garage to store her car. Hey folks! Did you know that's what they use garages for up in New England?) he looked down at his notebook and my glance followed his to the check I had carefully written out (after finally remembering) and had carefully asked my son to deliver to the Grand Master Elk of Mojo at the meeting in order to pay for that earlier mentioned camp out. 

"Uh oh," he said meekly. So much for the Red Pencil.

As it happens, Grand Master Elk lives a few doors down. My son threw himself in his glory across the couch next to his little brother, ready to bask in the reflected light of his brother's lack of a Red Pencil. But I went into my office and pulled out a blank envelope. Then I gave my son a choice: 

1. He could address an envelope (which I held in my hand) apologizing for forgetting to deliver the check at the meeting and signed by him, and I would walk the envelope down the few doors to G.M.E.'s mailbox, or

2. He could walk the check the few doors himself, knock on the door, and give the check to G.M.E.

He thought for only a few seconds and then stood up, his hand outstretched for the check. "You won this round," he laughed. And he put on his shoes and walked out into the night.

If any of you have raised or are raising at this moment (let us join hands and pray) a teenager, you know how stunning this turn of events was. That A) he was willing to get up from the couch for something that did not place chocolate or dyed chewy sugar, a video game, or cash into his hand and B) he was willing to walk to the house where he knew he would be greeted by an adult who might answer the door in a manner varying from "Sup" not to mention C) he had to put his shoes on and did so willingly gave me hope. 

Could it be...possible? But no. Not yet, anyway. Because while he was gone I walked down the hall to throw his notebook onto his bed and had to wade (you think I'm kidding) through a sludge of crumpled jeans and t-shirts and balled up socks to get across his room.

Still. Just maybe.

Comments

[Sis]

I love this story.

Go Littabets! Go Red Pencil!

[CrunchyTruth]

1. Man, you can write.

2. I swear I am not making this up, my son said the exact same thing to me: "Giving direction is part of pitching in."

3. You've described my son exactly, but without the red pencil.

-- Dave

[Dawn]

It is possible and it will happen. Just painfully slowly. He sounds like he's on his way.

[CrunchyTruth]

Where you at?