Mother / Son Relationships
Boys to Men December 2009 Newsletter
December 2009 / January 2010 Newsletter
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Conference
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Save the Date:
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Conference: Raising Boys to Men: Supporting Mothers
visit www.boysconference.org for details (info coming soon!)
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Boys to Men Holiday Gift Guy'd
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The Boys to Men Holiday Gift Guy'd is now online!
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Executive Director's Column
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Being
a mother has been one of the absolute best parts of my life and, at times, the
most challenging. Being a mother has brought out my best and worst traits. I am
so fortunate to have two amazingly wonderful boys...no, men. They are ages 20
and 22 now, something that regularly surprises me.
Being a mother of boys has come easily in so many ways. I have always loved to
wrestle and rough-house. I like being active and playing games. I am also
fairly easy to amuse so the countless games of "tickle mountain"
on weekend mornings never failed to entertain. The boys would run with all
their might and speed and jump onto me. If I could keep a hold of them and
tickle them without their wiggling away I won. Daniel would always leave the
room when the rough-housing started, certain that the game would end with
someone getting hurt. It often did, but the boys wanted to play nonetheless;
every chance they could get. I have also loved to play with Noah and Micah in
water; whether in a pool, lake or at the beach. I was always a willing
"Marco-Polo" player and an available judge for grading endless dives
and cannonball splashes.
But being a
mother has also been really hard for me ...in ways that I am not always proud
of. During my boys' adolescence, which I know we are still in the tail end of,
it was often easy for me to get drawn into a control struggle, and I am sure I
did not say "I'm sorry" or "I was wrong" nearly enough.
This less than stellar side of my parenting also caused friction with my
husband as Daniel often understood the boys so much more than I did. It was
sometimes hard for me to listen to his wisdom.
As an
organization, Boys to Men has always identified the importance of and need for
healthy adult male role models in boys' lives. Our programs have centered on
this premise since we started as a community coalition in 1998. Yet, I have
always known that the relationship between boys and their moms is vital,
complicated and deserving of attention and care. It was not until the last two
years when we put together our B2M Mothers Advisory Committee that I fully let
the importance of this connection into full consciousness. Because of the
wonderful dedication of this group of moms who attend every month for two hours
to sort through their questions, struggles and delights, Boys to Men has
started dedicating program time and energy to understand and support this
essential connection between mother and son. Besides dedicating this December
issue of our newsletter each year to moms and boys, we are also creating a
conference for mothers of boys. It will be held on April 3, 2010 in Portland.
Stay tuned to www.boysconference.org
for more information. We will be launching the Mothers Conference
information in the coming days.
Here's to mothers for all they contribute to the healthy development of boys
and young men.
Happy Holidays,
Layne
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An Interview with Kate Stone Lombardi
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We
interviewed Kate Stone Lombardi, New York Times Journalist and author of an
upcoming book on mothers and sons for this issue of the B2M e-newsletter. Kate
lives in New York and is the mother of a daughter and a son. Additionally, Kate
will be the keynote speaker at our Boys to Men Mothers Conference on April 3,
2010 in Portland. (For more information about the Mothers Conference, visit www.boysconference.org - conference information
will be posted soon!)
What is the best thing about
having a son?
There
are so many wonderful things about having a son, but the most surprising was
the dawning realization that my son had the same capacity for emotional
connection that my daughter did. I wasn't sure what having a boy would be like,
and he turned out to be deeply empathetic and sensitive. We also share the same
wacky sense of humor, which is great fun. Having a son gave me a new
perspective on understanding men.
What do you think defines "a
successful man" and what can moms do to help our sons realize that?
A
successful man is one who contributes something valuable to society and who can
connect with his family and the people around him. Really successful men, I
believe, reach a level of peace about themselves and who they are. Moms can
play a huge role in helping boys understand and articulate what they are
feeling. In doing so, they are laying the groundwork for the kind of emotional
intelligence a man will need for this kind of success.
What are the challenges young men
face today as they transition to becoming men?
Boys
today are under enormous pressure because they get such mixed messages. On the
one hand, our culture still demands that they be tough and macho. On the other
hand, they are encouraged to be sensitive and talk about their feelings -
basically to become more evolved guys. It's confusing for boys and it's
confusing for their parents. Even as I
earlier described my son as sensitive and empathic, I wanted to add that he was
6 ft tall and played ice hockey. Society is grappling with this idea of a
sensitive guy who still fits into an acceptable male model.
How can mothers support this
transition?
First,
mothers can provide a safe place for boys to cope with their emotions. Second,
we often forget that mothers, as well as fathers, can be role models for their
boys. In some ways, moms are uniquely qualified to help their sons reconcile
the conflicting pressures that boys face today.
Women
know that being attuned to our own feelings and those of others doesn't mean
that we emote all over the place. I don't break down weeping at the office if
my boss doesn't like my work. Mothers can model for their growing sons when and
where it's appropriate to be vulnerable - and when it's not.
What can the community do to
support the healthy development of boys and young men?
Part of
what I'm writing about is the pressure on mothers to push their sons away - cut
the apron strings so he can "be a man" and won't be a "Mamma's Boy." I
interviewed one mom who told me that her husband got angry when she comforted
her crying four-year-old, because he had to learn to "man up." I think boys and
young men would be better supported if they were not encouraged to separate so
early and so completely from their mothers. Mothers have something valuable to
impart to their sons, and it would be great if we could tone down some of the
rhetoric that discourages mother-son closeness.
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Mothers' Reflections
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Alexander
By Kate Tierney
 Sitting
contently, he studies the periwinkle, turning the tiny shell over and over
again with his small fingers, his eyebrows furrowed. I sit next to him, amazed by his
concentration but also anxious that he will put the shell into his mouth at any
moment. He does not. Instead he throws it back into the tidal pool
he is sitting in and delights at the splash.
I lift his small
naked body and walk up to the house. As
we walk past the garden, the aroma of beach roses blends with Alexander's scent
of sunscreen and salt water. The sun is
hot on our backs but his dangling little legs are cool from sitting in the
water.
In the upstairs bedroom, Alexander snuggles
in his bed for his nap. He sucks his two
middle fingers on his left hand and rubs his ear with his right. I rub his back and listen to the sounds of
the island that seep through the open window; the sound of waves gently lapping
the rocky shore and of the birch trees softly rustling in the breeze. After
several minutes, I go down stairs to the patio.
I close my eyes and tilt my face to the warm sun. Scenes of my childhood on the island float across
the backs of my eye lids. I start to daydream
about Alexander's future here. My
husband always reminds me to live in the present, not the future, but with
Alexander I feel conflicted. I know I
will miss this stage of his life soon.
Yet, this magical island is waiting to be explored by a young boy; a boy
who can run across the rocky beach, explore the island cave, and leap off the dock
into the frigid waters. I cannot wait for
this future to arrive.
By Anne Hallward
 It's hunting season, and I'm off to
visit my in-laws with my six year old son.
At breakfast Uncle Greg and Papa H show up in camouflage gear and talk
about getting a deer. Noah is enthralled. He wants to know everything about
hunting: did Daddy hunt when he was little?
Did Daddy own a gun? Can he see
it?
This
conversation challenges so many values I hold dear. I was brought up in an urban, liberal,
intellectual family that was never exposed to hunting. We associated it with
rednecks, people who loved cruelty to animals, wanted to kill for the "sport"
of it and were to be looked down on. I
grew up imagining we were morally superior to hunters.
So I
married a man who grew up hunting. At 16
he was given a shotgun and a hunting dog as a rite of passage. He had become a man. While he no longer hunts, and hasn't for
years, he does not renounce it. It holds
a deep personal and emotional pull for him.
It is part of the legacy of his family, of their definition of
masculinity, of a bond that the men shared.
It gives him a direct experience of something primal, of contact with
the immediate predator-prey relationship.
He feels it as a connection to the earth, to taking a life consciously
for food, to his own animal nature. It
is powerful and compelling.
At 6 Noah
feels this power and he wants to be part of it.
So here I
am, the mother, part of me desperately wanting him not to be a hunter, feeling
ashamed if he does, but also afraid. How
will this affect his tender side? Will he have to harden his heart? What will it do to his soul to look at a
beautiful large mammal with soft eyes, and kill it?
I eat meat,
I know that someone has to kill it; I know that I am removed from the food
chain and in denial about the reality of the meat I eat. I also know that many hunters live off the
meat of the animal they kill for long weeks into the winter, and that it serves
their family. Some of the "anti-hunting elitism" of my family is really
classism, because we didn't have to hunt to afford to eat meat. Classism, superiority
and denial are not values I want to pass on to my son.
And so I
need to make peace with the probability that my own son may grow up to be a
hunter. He may participate in a world so foreign to me, that it feels like a
form of separation and loss. Two things help me in this regard. I can teach him
the Native American ways of honoring and giving thanks for the spirit of the
animal that has given up its life for food.
But secondly I realize that I can trust my son, and trust the depth of
his heart. When our neighbor logged the
field near our house, Noah wept passionately for the loss of those trees. His interest in hunting has not hardened his heart;
in fact it is born from his heart, from his love of his Dad and his deep wish
to be a man like him. I begin to see that hunting can be an expression of love
and connection, connection to family, to tradition, to the primal forces of
nature and yes, even to the life and spirit of the deer itself.
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Poet's Corner
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Poems by Catharine Murray
Drifting
Supple
black undulating
waves
lift my brittle blue plastic shell
and I like the house on the shore
better in
September
no
docks no lawn chairs
just
what always was
around
it
the
rocks the grass the trees.
And I
dip my paddle in
to
turn my craft about
and
see my little boy
head
back, buck toothed til the
canines
come down,
laughing
at his echo
legs
splayed over the sides of his kayak
new school sneakers dabbling
the surface
he
yells out the words he knows to
I Have A Dream just to hear them come back.
And
little by little
the
gentle relentless
breeze
pushes him
farther
and farther away
from
me and I see
the
truth of mothering
that
this is the way it is
that
he will just keep slipping
farther
away from me
the
dark chilly water between us
no
way for me to catch him.
Oh,
of course, I know,
we'll
always be close
and
I'll love the man he'll become
but,
Oh,
the
little boy,
the
little boy.
No
Markers
Why
was there nothing to mark your departure?
No
signal, no movement, no alarm or whistle or buzzer
crying out, assuring me it's
over
He's dead.
No
messenger, no stone, no heavy hand upon my shoulder.
No
voice softly speaking sorrow into my ears
no telegram official and crumbling
no
certificate
only lack of what was once so much.
Only
huge, hollow, absence.
I
kept asking anyone who would listen, even if they weren't listening,
"Are
you sure he's dead? Maybe he's just asleep."
And
then I'd place my palm gently on the clear brow and feel the
chill like metal
in winter and I'd believe
But then I'd be just as sure I'd seen your chest
flutter with the rhythm of this faithful heart and ask
again and then
again.
All
day in fact until finally
long
after sunset (and you'd been cold since not much past midnight) I
could smell
the rotten sweet smell of death when I bent low and close to
your lips
too near
the nostrils.
I
picked up your stiff beloved
flesh
and bones and
kissing
your hair for really the last time
I bent over the long narrow wooden box they
brought me
and carefully
set you down
nestled in a new comforter and covered
you with my
baby blanket, ducks and soldiers still rolling, still standing
after all
these years
but you were already dead.
I
said goodbye again and again and I'm
still
trying to say it and really believe it
now 100 days later when your ashes have
long since turned in with the silt
of the river bed and your bones have tumbled
along
its running road till they
are part of the the fish that laze above the
bottom.
I'm
still wanting this precious exquisite hollow space filled
just the way it was.
Like
the pre-historic rhino that died in the mud and left a cave
the shape of its
body and the hikers didn't know it wasn't a cave
when they found it half a
million years later,
I want the rhino to come back and curl up warm and happy
and alive
and I'll want it for a few more million years
I guess.
3.
I am
peeling a mango
my
hands are covered with the sweet wetness of its flesh
my small knife slides
quickly between bitter green skin
and fragrant soft flesh.
I am
lost in my desire for its sweetness
in my mouth.
I
must take care not to cut my own hand in my haste to
satisfy my craving.
Suddenly
a boy speeds by on the road outside the yard on his bike
I look up.
On
the back sits another boy in black and red basketball jersey.
I
look back at the work in my hand, but before I can stop myself,
I am looking up
again to see if it was my son.
It
looked like him, brown hair, close cropped, bright smile, slippery
polyester
clothes,
sitting as he would be now, on the back of his brother's speeding bike
would be if he hadn't fallen ill and died.
Died
long ago but long enough for a mother to know better
than to look up for him
well and happy on the back of a zipping bike.
I
look back at my mango
and
see that though
I
thought a moment ago I had known what desire was, I hadn't.
The
wanting for him is huge.
I
want him more than that fruit.
Now I
understand killers and rapists and war mongerers
and dealers in living and dead
flesh.
If
you want something that badly, you'd do anything.
Looking
at the knife and soft flesh and tough peel a single structure in
my hands
I
know there is little I wouldn't do to get him back
if I could.
Gripped
by the intensity of such desire
how
can I person stop herself from doing anything?
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Mail Bag
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 Dear Mom,
I don't think I take the time
often enough to let you know how much you mean to me, and I have realized
lately how important it is for me to express that. I want you to know that just
the thought of you fills me with warmth and a sense of security. Even
though I am a man of 42 years, when things happen in my life that knock me
down, I still feel the urge and the need to run to the comfort of your arms and
your unconditional love, just as I did when I was a boy.
It's hard not to take one's
own mother for granted, but I often pause to contemplate just how lucky I am to
have you in my life. I feel sorry for those people who are estranged from
their parents. You have always played such an important role in my life,
shaping my personality, instilling in me your values and morals. I am
moved by your fascination with and enjoyment of nature, something I share,
though perhaps somewhat tempered by the "progress" and innovations of my digital
generation. I am proud of the way you live your life. I wish I
could be more like you.
There is a connection between
you and me. From my memories as a child of you singing sea shanties and
reading to me, I know I can trace my interest in stories of old wooden
sailing ships and Greek mythology directly back to you. My love of baking
(and maybe even my sweet-tooth) was born at your side in the kitchen making
brownies, cakes, cookies, pies and more. Perhaps it will be that long-ago
created bond which finally blossoms into a new career and future for me.
These words somehow seem
inadequate to fully express what you truly mean to me, but know this: I feel
happiest when I do things that make you proud of me, and I feel worst when I do
things that disappoint you. However, through it all, the ups and downs,
you have always been there for me, and your steadfast support makes dealing
with life's difficulties much more manageable. What would I do without
you?
Love,
Jan
Letter written by Jan Lohmann
Mom,
I have many memories from childhood; some sweet, some sour,
and some that are even worse than that.
I remember at an early age being at your side in the kitchen baking or
making French onion soup and just being at ease and happy. I remember the day when I crashed my new bike
trying to take the Evel Knievel jump my brothers always did. You didn't stop me, but instead gave me the
chance to take a risk. In those moments
following impact there was nothing more core to my soul than the statement I
made to that poor woman who tried to help: "Get away from me! I WANT MY MOM!"
In later years, after you and Dad got divorced, it became
harder and harder to maintain that connection.
My memories from that time always taste bitter to me. You were always too preoccupied with us
surviving as a family. I was taking
chances that no mother ever wants her child to take. I am lucky to have survived long enough to have
had the chance to learn from those mistakes.
I realize now more than ever as I work so hard for my family, that even
with a dedicated partner, being a parent is the hardest thing that I have ever
done. I am in awe of your strength and
courage to keep fighting on in the face of adversity just to give me a
chance. I know that it was not always
easy and that you were not always able to do the right thing but that you were
doing the best you could with what you had and that what you had was not
much. I can't imagine what it must have
felt like to be dangling alone at the end of your rope without a net, and yet you
hung on just to give us a chance. I am
so very grateful for the chance at life that all of your sacrifices have
afforded me. Our relationship has not
always been smooth, and indeed has come apart at the seams at times. However, we have come back to it and worked
hard to understand each other.
Throughout my life I have never doubted that you love me.
This Thanksgiving as I was once again standing in your
kitchen, this time making my world famous "low-fat gravy™", I was transported
back to the beginning. Once again I was
at your side cooking, feeling at ease and happy. This time with my two boys playing on your piano,
with their toy cars, and just enjoying time together as a family, unaware of
how hard life can be because it is not for them. I want to honor you for giving me a chance
when others did not: the chance to grow up, make mistakes, and to become the
father I always wanted but never had because he just couldn't keep it
together.
Thanks Mom, I Love You,
Your son, Jeff
Jeff Morrill is a
dedicated father, husband and the program coordinator for Boys to Men.
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Things to do Together
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Like all moms, the B2M Mothers Advisory
Committee is often hunting for things to
do with their sons (and daughters). Here is a list of great activities to do
with kids in Maine. If you would like to add other ideas, please email them to boystomen@maine.rr.com. We are in the
process of compiling a list for our website.
FalmouthMaine Audubon - Discovery
room, trails, kids programs, catching frogs
Family Ice - indoor & outdoor skating
Macworth Island- trails, beach and playground
ScarboroughScarborough Marsh Nature
Center - canoeing
Ice skating at Massacre Pond (winter)
Higgins Beach
Bicycle riding or riding a scooter down the eastern trail
off black point road in scarborough
Go-kart racing
paint your own pottery
Freeport
Mast Landing Audubon - trails
Wolf's Neck Farm
Winslow Park - trails/camping
Recompence trails/camping
Pettingill Farm - trails
PownalBradbury Mountain state park - trails, playground, field Sebago
Douglas Mountain - trails Westbrook
Maine Academy of Gymnastics - open gym - Westbrook
Bounce Zone - used to be in Portland, but coming to
Westbrook soon
PortlandBowling - Yankee Lanes
Maine Rock Gym
Jokers
Fore River Sanctuary/Jewel falls
The Saturday show at St. Lawrence Performing Arts Center
Space Gallery - kids programs
Deering Oaks - playground, water fountain park (in summer)
Narrow Gauge railroad - museum & train rides
Casco Bay ferry to any of
the islands (bike rentals on Peaks)
Southworth Planetarium - USM
Portland Duck Tours
First Friday art walks
Phyzkids series- physical comedy shows
Cross country skiing & sledding- Riverside golf course
River walk to waterfall along Presumpscot -
Portland/Falmouth
YarmouthRoyal River walk
DeLorme - "Eartha" Yarmouth Community Services - free summer concert series, Royal River Park
Boothbay Harbor RegionCoastal Maine Botanical Gardens
Maine State Acquarium
Boothbay
Railway Village
Whale, seal, and puffin watches
Gray
Maine Wildlife Park
SacoFuntown/Splashtown
AugustaMaine state museum
Owls Head
Transportation Museum
All over Maine:Going to the bookstore and reading stories together
Looking for seaglass at the beach
Making sculptures out of found objects at the beach
Going to the pet store and looking at all the animals
Gardening
U-pick apples, or blueberries, or strawberries in season
Going to the yarn store to choose wool and learn to knit
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Movies
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Good Movies to Watch With Your Son and Family
(All films rated PG
or G)
*synopses courtesy of
imdb.com
Animated:
Iron Giant (1999)
A boy makes friends with an innocent giant alien robot that
a paranoid government agent wants to destroy.
Kiki's Delivery
Service (1989)
A young witch, on her mandatory year of independent life,
finds fitting into a new community difficult while she supports herself by
running an air courier service.
Up (2009)
By tying thousands of balloons to his home, 78-year-old Carl
Fredricksen sets out to fulfill his lifelong dream to see the wilds of South
America. Right after lifting off, however, he learns he isn't alone on his
journey, since Russell, a wilderness explorer 70 years his junior, has
inadvertently become a stowaway on the trip.
Monsters Inc. (2001)
A tale about the professional
scarers of Monsters, Inc., who sneak into children's bedrooms at night to
elicit screams that they convert into energy to run their world. Life is fine
for top scarer Sulley and his assistant, Mike, until a little girl named Boo
accidentally finds her way into the monster world.
Live Action:
The Karate Kid (1984)
A handyman/martial arts master agrees to teach a bullied boy
karate and shows him that there is more to the martial art than fighting.
Homeward Bound: The
Incredible Journey (1993)
Three pets are left behind when their family goes on
vacation. Unsure of what happened, the animals set out on a quest across the
country to find their family.
Holes (2003)
Falsely accused of stealing
sneakers, teenager Stanley Yelnats is sent to a Texas detention camp, where he
and other delinquents are forced by the sadistic warden to dig holes for some
mysterious reason.
Rudy (1993)
Rudy has always been told that he was too small to play
college football. But he is determined to overcome the odds and fulfill his
dream of playing for Notre Dame.
Into the West (1993)
The story of two brothers who are traveling over the Irish
countryside from Dublin on a very special horse their grandfather gave them. They think they are going on a cowboy adventure, but the mysterious horse takes them on a journey of healing as they visit places where their mother (who died when they were young) had visited.
Great Expectations
(1946)
An adaptation of Dickens' classic story of an innocent
orphan's adventures after he escapes his hard life as an apprentice. Adopted by an unknown benefactor, Pip befriends a convict, falls in love with a
beautiful society girl who snubs him and betrays his most loyal friend.
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