Ben

At some point or another I’ve started noticing little bits of me filtering into each of my kids. For instance Callum has my sense of humour (lucky, lucky boy), Jack has inherited my particular talent of tripping over nothing and breaking limbs (not so lucky boy) and Nathan - well, neither Nathan nor I seem to have a real sense of social boundaries. Things like close talking, or leaving enough ‘dance space’. Or just plain old too much talking. And Ben? Ben…has inherited my nose. Which is not a bad thing.
Ben is my second oldest boy, neither youngest nor oldest nor even officially middle. He is kind and handsome and thoughtful. And he is the one son of mine of whom I have felt the least sure. It isn’t that we aren’t close to each other - or at least, I hope it isn’t about that. I love Ben as much as the other boys with the same sort of singular list I carry in my heart for each of them, a list that will always be theirs and theirs alone. The problem isn’t loving him enough; no, my problem lies in getting him enough. In becoming more sure than I am now.
I am not a brilliant woman (I can actually feel you all nodding in agreement and I will try not to hold it against you). I am smart enough, funny enough and (sometimes) kind enough. Ben is a brilliant boy. He is single minded in his pursuits, of which there are many. Whereas I have a few pursuits which I forget about once there’s a good show or book in front of me. Ben is one of those people that can quote parts of the dictionary to you, can bend over a creek and watch the same fish go by for hours until his slender little back is burnt in the sun, who bounces a basketball a thousand times in a row until it bounces the way he wants it to. He would eat the same meal for dinner (meatballs in sauce, mashed potatoes and carrots) every single night and wear the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt, shorts and shoes every day. I can barely make it through one meal without wanting something different.
Our one saving grace seems to be his quirkiness - thank God because that’s all I’ve got. Quirks. When he was a little boy he was deathly - DEATHLY - afraid of flies. If one landed near him he was inconsolable for hours. He is almost irrationally emotional, and I too have had a moment or two of overwhelming emotion. A day. When we bake together he ties his apron - yes, he will wear an apron for me and how great is that? - tightly and trimly around his middle. He also likes to wear robes and slippers. I don’t, but I really love that he does - and I especially love that he walks around in said robe and slippers and hums to himself just like my Grandpa used to. It’s different and precious.
I must admit that there have been times when I have felt judged by Ben. He is very - moral. And I don’t mean to make that seem like a bad thing. I’m glad he has a fine sense of morals. I just wish he wouldn’t use them against me. Like the time I got a speeding ticket (or would have if I hadn’t cried my eyes out until the policeman, terrified, told me to ‘just go’.) and Ben looked at me with censure in his eyes, muttering “You’re a really bad driver, Mom.” I’m really not. Or every once in a while he will catch my mother and I gossiping in the kitchen with a glass of wine - not that we do that very often. He will look at us with this sort of world-weary impatience and ask “Who are you two talking about THIS time?”. We usually stop then. Or go red, or both. Because we don’t want to look bad in his eyes. Especially since he is almost always such an incredibly ‘good’ boy. Such a good boy, in fact, that when he feels like being a ‘bad’ boy he feels a sort of justification. “I deserve this”, his eyes will say to me as he slowly beats his younger brother to a pulp. “I am really good a lot of the time and you need to give me this moment to act out.” Which I never do.
Here’s the thing - a lot of the time it’s true, I don’t really get Ben. I don’t share a lot of his interests or many of his passions. I don’t see a lot of myself in him. But at the end of the day I think it’s really okay. I think the wanting to get him is as important as actually getting him. Being proud of who he is, letting him become even more of who he’ll be every time I encourage him or just allow him to be. Especially when who he’ll be, I’m certain, is better than me.