To the boys who offer polite hugs and awkward conversation, and
if I’m lucky maybe a chuckle or two: I get it. Things are weird for us now. I’m
no longer your jungle gym. I can’t tickle you on the floor anymore (well, I could, but how weird would that be?). That game
where you wrap yourself in a blanket and pretend you’re my Christmas gift (a
puppy) and I unwrap you to find you barking and jumping has lost its thrill.
You don’t want to hold my hand and walk to the park or wander down the bike trail
picking berries with me anymore. I no longer chase you around the block on your
tricycle. I can’t hoist you on my shoulders (and even if I could you’d be
horrified for me to do it). If I’m lucky I can decorate a gingerbread house with
(eh-em for) you around Christmas
time. That cake we decorated for your 11th birthday was a blast, but
I have the feeling you won’t want to do the same for your 14th. I
miss our giggles and games. I miss being “the cool aunt.” I miss the sparkle in
your eye when you would look to me for a laugh. You literally used to fight each other over who I loved more. (Spoiler—it's equal). You’re growing up, and sure, it
makes me a little sad. You’re learning how to be a man, and understandably,
you’re not going to look to me for that.
But let me also tell you this. As much as I miss the times
we shared when you were little, I am just as proud to watch you becoming an
adult. When you win a wrestling match, chest puffed out, red-faced, and then
pat your opponent on the back, I swell with pride (and maybe a few tears),
because I remember your once short temper and how you resorted to biting your
brother when you couldn’t best him in a tussle. You’ve worked hard to get to
this place of athletic achievement and self-control. When I see you eating
nothing but ham and raspberries at Christmas dinner because you’re cutting
weight, more than I want to feed you—and believe me, I do—I’m so impressed with
your determination and dedication to your goals. And though I miss your squishy
thighs and dimpled hands, I’m in awe of the sinewed limbs and six-pack abs I’m
seeing now. I feel so privileged to have had a front-row seat to watching
squirrelly, goofy, little squirts evolve into the superheroes you are becoming.
I totally get why the girls at school swoon over you (though it does make me
throw up a little in my mouth.) And I also understand why you probably don’t
want to talk to me about those same girls. I’m assuming it’s occurred to you
recently that I am not just your aunt, but, in fact, a woman. Eww! Am I right?
So, for now, things are a little weird, and that’s okay. But
I love you as much as I ever did, and I want you to always know that. I’m
envisioning a future of us cracking jokes, giving each other a hard time, maybe
even arguing politics over a beer. I plan to be in the metaphorical front row
for your graduation, your wedding, the birth of your children, and whatever
else the future may hold. It’s going to be awesome, because you’re awesome! And
maybe, some day, I can reclaim my rightful throne as the cool aunt. If not,
hey, it was a good run. And I’m okay with being the slightly embarrassing aunt
who hugs and kisses you too much and says awkward things that make you blush.
In fact, I’m totally okay with that.
Love,
Aunt Mandy
