I was raised by women. For the longest time women were all I knew. My brother kept himself enough apart, and was enough older, that I cannot say that I knew him, not until much later, when we were adults and started giving up our secrets to each other.
I was raised by women, and now I find myself among men. Even the cat is male. And still I don’t fully understand men. My sons remain opaque to me, though once they were of me. Their habits, their comforts, their smell are the foreign language I cannot seem to master. The prosody of their chatter tempts me, and I can follow along when they remember to speak slowly, but I will never be a native speaker of their tongue.
There is a certain freedom in landing here on Mars, I will admit, even at a distance never less than seventy-five million miles from Venus. My sons and husband cannot expect me to act according to stereotype when they remain relatively unaware of the content of that stereotype. (My husband has no sister who might have taught him such things early on.) So I follow no prescription. But now and then I am lonely in this place, separated as I am from my first tribe. I do not often feel understood. Tolerated, yes. Loved, yes.
And as my boys grow older, the gap between us widens, unnoticeable in a 24-hour span, perhaps, but perceptible in weeks and months. I call to them, and they cannot make out the signal for the noise. They do nod encouragingly, ready to oblige in the event that they receive some intelligible instruction.
My children will be grown to men in one reluctant heartbeat. I am certain they will remain amiable and affectionate. I will tousle their hair and wish them well. I will adore them.
But in truth they are as little known to me as my cat, who gazes at me with a ferocity I keep mistaking for intention.
We are balanced, two females, two males. Sometimes my daughter and I bond as a unit and the men do the same, but sometimes, based on temperament, my son and I bond in opposition to my husband and daughter. The dynamic shifts often and keeps life interesting and ensures we are, in the end, all part of each other.
I too find men/boys to be other.
I love this. That last line so resonates with me, probably because I’ve had a cat but not a kid. Thanks for sharing yourself….
With you for a mother, they will call home frequently.
Hmm. Did you feel like this about your sons always, or more so since they have attained/ approached puberty? I ask because I feel as though I finally have gained insight to the Martians through my son. I admitted to myself just this morning that my expectations for my daughter are higher than those for my son, and I think it’s because I identify more closely with her.
De, I think I have always felt this way, to some degree. But the feeling has certainly escalated as they’ve entered adolescence.
I’ve always been able to easily visualize my daughter as an adult. i can see her physically and can imagine her in different life scenarios. with my son, who i love fiercely (he IS the baby after all), i simply cannot. i’ve never been able to.
I hope we never underestimate the power of our presence in the lives of our children. Mothers are endued with an undefined influence that remains with them thoughout their lives. In the best moments it translates into heart to heart exchanges, verbal or not, that remind us that we are sowing seeds into dark holes, watering and waiting. There is a lot of waiting.
My husband is the opposite…living in a land of females even though we do have one boy. He’s completely clueless about the Girl’s mood swings and crying jags. I fear he lacks the patience to deal with adolescent girl angst and it’s only just beginning. We’ll just see M through it and it will be D’s turn. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, methinks.
“And as my boys grow older, the gap between us widens, unnoticeable in a 24-hour span, perhaps, but perceptible in weeks and months.” I am there, too. Maybe I should go get a cat.