I remember 15. I left private school for a public high school – all at my instigation and with reluctant support from my parents once they realized I couldn’t be swayed. I found a new academic program at a high school across town from where we lived, and arranged for an interview. I took charge.
I met my husband at 15. I met my closest friend at 15.
Bushboy turned 15 this week. My little boy. 15.
And remembering all those things of my life at 15, I am forced to respect that he also knows his mind. That things are now happening in his life that may be in play for the rest of his life. That he is capable of making decisions, as I was, that will shape his directions and intentions.
He is working now, part-time at a coffee shop. He always has been his own person, but he is becoming his own young adult.
Parenting at this age is trickier. It is a lot more of suggesting, of calmly guiding, of listening intently. It is beginning to let go and yet loving and supporting fiercely.
We are at the beginning of a new type of partnership, this boy and I. Exciting, terrifying and exhilarating.