All in a Mother’s Day”

I used to think the hardest part of being a mother was the needing—needing me to feed them, bathe them, keep them healthy, educated, entertained.

Now I know the hardest part is the not needing, and when to know the difference.

My two children are about to graduate from childhood. The youngest will be 18 in the fall, and away at college. Her brother will turn 21 a few weeks earlier, and will likely remain at home.

His two college applications were rejected recently. He was judged on his academic record, which is less than stellar. If they had asked me I would have waxed poetic about his deep reserves of humor and intellect, his artistic eye, his magician’s touch as a film editor. But they didn’t ask me.

When he was finishing his application at the eleventh hour, he said he thought the essay wasn’t “good enough.” With an eye on the deadline, I said it was “better than nothing.” He sent it. They never saw his films or his scripts. They never met him face-to-face. His record stood on its own, and it wasn’t good enough.

This is where the Super-mother steps in and saves the day, isn’t it?

Not this time.

It is hard to let your children fail, but sometimes it is just what they need. I don’t know if this is that time. I am deeply conflicted about my role in this drama. Do I push him into something I’m not sure he’s ready for, or stand back and watch him stumble, perhaps fall? I fear my instincts are no help to me here.

I look to the eagle who lives next door, for guidance. She has just hatched three young. They are not ready to fly yet, but they will be soon. She sits high on her nest, giving them room to grow and move, to pick apart the food she has hunted for them, even to squabble among themselves. She has a majestic air, a look of deep contentment and certainty. She is alert to danger and will defend this brood to the death. Her role in these three young lives is clear.

Last year, the eagle parents fledged two eaglets from this nest. One had trouble flying at first, crashing a few times against the island. The parents watched and squawked instruction but did not otherwise interfere. Eventually, the nest was clear for another generation.

I grew up with little interference. Some would say no guidance. So the line between the two is fuzzy for me. With more guidance, my life might have been easier or different or more fulfilling, but I could not be happier with the way it has turned out. I stumbled many times, took years to find out what I was good at, even though others may have known it early on. Of course, I want my children’s lives to be easier. I want them to soar and find fulfillment and success.

Human life seems much more complicated than an eagle’s. There are so many choices, temptations, potential pitfalls. But the mother’s role may not be much different. After the breeding and the feeding and protecting the defenseless, it is time to squawk instruction, stand back and watch them stumble and fly.