Portraits of the Patriarchy
Father Time examines the progressive shift in modern fatherhood
Part 8
Okay, I’ll admit: I was a total momma’s boy. As the youngest of three siblings, and the only boy, my mom carved a special shrine in her heart for me, and boy, did I enjoy residing there. Sunday morning breakfast dates at the Village Inn, holding her hand in every public place, bedtime stories, and my choice of toys, were a few of the perks I received from mom.
Of course, as time went on, I learned how to do my own laundry, cook, and clean. As I moved away from the proverbial nest, started relationships, married and had children of my own, the weekly calls with mom have gone down to maybe once a month. We see each other a few times a year, if we’re lucky. Is my relationship with my mother still strong? Yes. Am I a better man because of it? Definitely.
What boys learn from their mothers is connection. The sweetest, most intimate kind of connection. With their mothers, boys learn heartfelt love, raw emotion, and vulnerability. I’m watching it evolve right now with my two sons and my wife. It’s beautiful to see their bonds grow each day, and witness how they light each other up in their own special ways.
And yet, how is it that I get a little jealous of these sweet and tender moments? Why am I quick to judge whether my wife is mothering or smothering?
For starters, it’s my machismo rearing its head. It’s the notion that Father should set the tone, that the man determines the emotional range within the domicile. And it’s me harboring an unwarranted fear that too much love from mommy might weaken my warriors.
And therein lies the problem: that I see these two precious sons of mine as warriors. As if this were Sparta, and that, if I don’t train them to kill, they might end up in the pile of weak, discarded men. Or worse, that they take their vengeance out on me.
While there’s a fair amount of competition for my wife’s attention, we boys won’t go without. We won’t starve. We will all support each other when and where needed, as a tribe, as a team. Not as a band of killers.
And as for those twinkling moments when my wife holds them in her arms as though they are still her babies? She has every right in the universe to do so. They are her greatest creation. She can savor the moment as long as she wants. And so can I.
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Photo by Mel Elías on Unsplash
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