When Sons Grow Up

By Renie Stag Smith

I recently experienced a rite-of-passage dream that most mothers of sons have.  Or an alien abduction of epic proportions, I’m not sure which.

I went shopping with my son for his professional clothing, at his insistence!

For those of you who are mothers with sons, you can probably relate.  When younger, my son, like most other boys, would refuse to go shopping and try on clothing.  As he got older and grew (and grew and grew!), I insisted that he go with me to at least try on the denims that seemed to be perpetually “high water pants” after the first washing.

Those shopping days were pure hell.  For both of us.  One or both ended up mad, in tears, or not speaking to the other for days.

So, it was with some trepidation and much consternation that I agreed to accompany him to purchase his first real professional clothing.

As we drove to the mall, we bantered like old friends. He talked about his job with Vail Corporation, working on the mountain at Breckenridge.  About the people he worked with.  About how much he enjoyed what he was doing.  About how proud he was of doing a great job.  About his 401K.

What???  The child who couldn’t or wouldn’t save any of his allowance all those years ago has a 401K? And insurance?  And is considering buying property to invest in?

I began to wonder if this was truly my son sitting next to me or if he had been replaced by a look-alike alien the last time we’d gone through Roswell, NM.

We entered one of the men’s clothing departments at the mall and began searching for shirts.  And sweater vests.  And ties.  Ties??? (It seems the managers of the Ski Hill Grill try to outdo each other on the weekend with how professionally they can dress on “Sweater Vest Saturdays.”)

And then he said something that chilled me to the bone, “I’ll be right back.  I’m gonna go try these on. I’ll come out so you can give me your opinion,” and he disappeared into a dressing room.

I watched his gait as he strode confidently, proudly into the aperture.  This was not my son; not the one who left home a bit over a year ago to make his way into the world!  This was an imposter, a sham, an alien in my son’s body, like in The Body Snatchers! He was going into a dressing room of his own accord, wanting me to give him advice on his selections?

When he came out, I gasped.  He looked so grown up.  Handsome. Confident. Professional. What I’d always hoped he would turn out to be.

“What d’ya think?” he asked.

I started bawling.

And then to top it off, he paid for the purchases.

I was in shock.

And as shopping made us hungry, we went to lunch.  And talked more.  And bonded like we hadn’t since he was two years old and crawled up into my lap so I could read to him.

When the check came, he quickly whisked it into his hand, paid, and left a nice tip like I’d taught him.  This was the first time he’d ever paid for a meal at a restaurant when with one of his parents.

I still don’t know if that was really my son or not.  I kept trying to trip him up on the way home with “do you remember when?” questions.  He always knew the answers. Whether this was my son or an alien invader sitting next to me in the car, I was one happy momma!

(Congratulations, Dubbs!  I am proud of you!)

–Renie