The walls echo with a delicious rowdiness. Some days feel like those walls might not hold, and the girls and I wonder what kind of world we have been transported into. A world of tumbles and hard knocks and deep guttural laughter and cries of "Uncle!". A world where stinkiness is a sign of manhood and fire and guns and arrows and tools hold an unearthly mesmerizing quality. A world where danger, risks, and circling just this side of death itself is the only way to live. And though a tomboy myself, I never really learned in our house of girls the secret life of boys. I admit I am lost.
So, I send them outside to the place where the clouds accept their noise without question and give them a soft cushion for all their explosive energy. There is no better sounding board than nature who hoots and hollers alongside, beckoning them to go on ahead and kick it up a notch. Here they are free, without civilized walls closing in on their impending manhood.
I am still learning this mothering of boys with all its letting go and giving more rolled into one package. And I have a piercing ache that longs to be this kind of a place for them...and weeps for the times I haven't. But, I love that I have been given the privilege of a front row seat to each metamorphosis because there is great delight in watching a boy grow into all he was made to be.