Raising Boys, Raising Men

by Kellie (04/18/2010 02:05 am)

Over a decade ago, I was sure I was pregnant with a little girl. When the ultrasound technician pointed out “the turtle coming out of its shell” and then explained that the turtle was “boy bits”, the first thought I had was “Better not call him Abby then”, closely followed by “ARRGH! A boy? Boys are WEIRD! With different bits! How do you look after boys?” Twelve years later, I’m still learning how to look after boys, now in the company of two sons who thankfully have been looking after their own bits (“AARGH! Get OUT Mum!”) for over ten and six years respectively.

Turns out that the boy bits part was the easiest problem to solve (“Wipe in a number 8 and you’re sorted” is my advice to all first time Mums of boys.) As my sons have hit the ages of eight and twelve, the most difficult truth to face is that I can’t be everything my sons need.

Because I’m not raising boys, I’m raising men. And my sons need men. Real men, not just people who happen to be legally adult. When I left the ultrasound cubicle and headed straight for the bookstore and library to research just what this son of mine would need, I didn’t realise that it takes a tribe of interested, engaged, actively involved men to make happy boys, and help those happy boys become men themselves. I didn’t know that I would be divorced from the father of my sons, living hundreds of kilometres apart, and have no interested males within my own family to take part in my sons’ lives. I had no idea that my sons (and all other boys I have come in contact with) would gravitate so unerringly towards the men in their lives, thirsty for direction, attention, instruction from a guy, a bloke, a MAN.

But they do. Boys need men. Men to look at, to talk to, to copy their walk and mannerisms and learn just what this thing called “a man” involves. What “a man” looks like. Talks like, thinks like. Even smells like. I watched in open-mouthed astonishment as my son spent an entire weekend practically Velcro-d to my uncle’s side, soaking up everything he did. How he sprawled in a chair. How he made sure that the women in the family were comfortable, and to tease them with respect at the same time – all seen to be part of being “a man”. My uncle watched Hatro cook his first barbecue – an unofficial rite of passage in Australia that has to be overseen by male elders to count – nudging him with his elbow with a “Careful, Hat, watch the one on the end” during the cooking, and “Top work, mate” as we sat down to eat. That weekend I watched my son’s shoulders move differently as he mimicked a stance, jiggle as he tried on manhood for size, and stretch as he considered what kind of man he could be.

There have been other men who have seen a need, or lack, or gap and have stepped forward. A neighbour who taught my sons about tools, maintenance, physics and chemistry as they all cemented my letterbox back to upright. My scary looking, gruff, tattooed boss who taught my son to punch and defend safely after being beaten at school, and encouraged my other son to fill up the teapot as we waited through the lesson. Last year I was running late for church, and on the way noticed Hatro’s tie was undone. We arrived at church and – unable to remember how to tie it – I told Hatro to ask our father-and-son home teachers for help. I will never forget that Sunday. Mere weeks away from turning 12, Hatro stood in the middle of the hallway, thronged by all the Young Man in the branch and surrounded by every adult priesthood holder. And every single one of them had their tie undone. To help my son learn to tie his tie, to learn more about what men do.

I’m raising two sons. Each a son who happens to be a man-child at the moment, yet who will one day be legally responsible for his own actions. Each a boy who hopefully one day will be a man, not just because of the number of years since I first looked into his newborn eyes, but because his own personality, actions, decisions and responses and attitudes have taken him past the definition of adult and set him firmly into manhood. And manhood is something that I just can’t demonstrate myself.

But I’m hoping, praying, that there will continue to be men who care, who work, who live as examples, willing to guide my sons along their individual path to manhood.

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