Had I known we were being prophetic when we named our first son, I would not have named him Will. Les would have been easier to live with. It's not so much that Will was headstrong, but that he was headed his own way and it was not necessarily where the rest of the family was going, proving the saying--Where there's a Will there's a way. I was confident I could out stubborn him, I had decades of practice, but I was afraid one day he would start heading his own way and just keep walking. When Will left home, I began the emotional equivalent of holding my breath. Waiting for Will.
I felt like I was standing still and silent by the open door, trying to coax a wild creature into the house. It was not that Will never entered our home, he lived a few miles away, we saw him often, but not for holiday meals or any of the expected times. Will came and went on his own schedule, unbound by social conventions, uncomfortable in large gatherings. A wild creature.
When I gave birth to our first child, I was overwhelmed by both the fierceness with which I loved her and the crushing vulnerability of knowing my own happiness was forever linked to hers. That vulnerability is even worse when the helpless baby grows into an independent child with a will of his own. I worked throughout his childhood to earn Will's respect because respect, unlike duty and guilt, is the basis of friendship between an adult child and his parents. Nothing worth having comes easy, but I knew he was worth of effort and now, in his late twenties, Will lives with us on school breaks, appreciates all we do for him and is finally willing to accept our help. He calls weekly, just as I do my own dad. What began as parenting ended as friendship. Worth the wait.
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