When were you supposed to start hating my son?

Was it when this beautiful baby boy was baptized before you and you promised
to surround him in steadfast love and establish him in the faith?
He was the same child at that moment that he is today.
Was it when you laughed at the clowning antics of this eager toddler with happy
eyes and a smile that lit up his face?
Was it when you realized that this four-year-old was actually reading the books
you passed out at "looking" time?
Was it when you counted on him to eagerly participate in your classroom and
help other students?
Was it when you handed him a Citizenship Award at the school assembly?
Was it when you gave him a top award in state competition?
Was it when you laid your hands on him during Confirmation?
Was it when you confided how you appreciated the loyal friendship he had given your child?
Was it when you selected him to receive the "Spirit" award for his dedication to theater?
Was it when you chose him as "outstanding club member" of the year?
Was it when you admired him for achieving the rank of Eagle Scout?
Was it when you told me that he is a true gentleman, even when no one is watching?
Was it when you congratulated him on earning scholarships for college?

  I watched for clues to his interests and the natural directions in which he
  would grow. I encouraged, enriched and supported those inclinations.
  I wanted him to develop his full potential and blossom into the person
  God created him to be. He is the child that he was born to be.

When was I supposed to start hating my son?

Was it when I was grateful that he and his sister were so compatible?  I dared to
hope that they would become lifelong friends.
Was it when I noticed how carefully he handled books and toys?  It was a sign of
his intelligence.  I wondered.
Was it when he recoiled, almost in horror, from being pulled into a romp on the
floor with a visiting uncle and cousin?  They were strangers.  I wondered.
Was it when I saw how freely and naturally he moved to music?  He really should
have dance lessons.  I decided not.
Was it when I marveled at the complex, imaginative structures that he built from
anything - blocks, sand, Legos, boxes, branches?  He descends
from engineers and woodworkers.  I rejoiced.
Was it when I saw the tenderness and care he gave to plants and living creatures of all kinds?
His ancestors were farmers.  I was happy.  And, I wondered.
Was it when the boys on the playground wouldn't allow him to take part in their recess games?
He wept in anguish, "I feel like they have taken my heart and wadded it up
into a little ball and stomped on it."  I was devastated.  And, I wondered.
Was it when I read his poetry or heard how eloquently he was able to put his
feelings into words?  Writing is a family gift.  I was thrilled.
Was it when I listened to his music or saw his art or his love of opera?  Artists
and musicians are his heritage.  I was proud.  And, I wondered.
Was it when he could be moved to tears by sentimental losses - dinnerware replaced, wallpaper
papered over, toys worn out?  Many persons are sentimental.  I wondered.
Was it when I found one of Grandpa's anatomy art books in his closet - the only
one with both men and women nudes standing, stooping, sitting,
walking, running, leaping?  His curiosity was gratifying.  But, I wondered.
Was it when he didn't turn into a rebellious teenager suffering one crush after
another?  "The Joy of Sex" was under his bed.  I was glad that he
was interested.  And, I wondered.
Was I supposed to wonder when he was at the church each week - taking part in
choirs, attending Sunday School, leading youth group, serving on
committees?  I didn't.  I was pleased.
When could I ever hate my son?

Yesterday you congratulated him; today you begrudge him anything.
Yesterday you asked for his leadership; today he isn't welcome.
Yesterday you cared about him; today you wish he would disappear.
Yesterday you saw his promise and expected great things of him;
today he mustn't be allowed opportunity.

When did my son start deserving your hate?

He is the same child that he was yesterday and has been for all of the yesterdays
since his birth. He has not changed.  He has not been pretending, hiding or deceiving.

Today he discovered that God had given him a gift that he didn't expect.
One that he did not understand earlier.  One that he did not ask for or even want.
It is a gift that he accepts because it is God-given.

Today he starts on his journey to manhood.  He takes with him his love for his family,
his church, his country, the earth and all of creation.

He dreams the same dreams as yesterday - getting an education, finding a job, having a
home, volunteering in his church and community. He dreams of being respected and of
using his talents to do what he can to make our country and this world a little better place
for everyone. One day, he hopes to find the same personal fulfillment, support and
lasting commitment that every human being seeks and needs. He dreams of finding a
man who will love him for himself - just as God created him.

When did you start hating my son?

God blessed me.  His providence provided that I would wonder, just enough,
throughout my son's growing years that I can be open to the possibilities of his birthright.
I am filled with love, admiration, pride and hope for my son.

Today my joy is subdued, because I am frightened.

I do not fear my son or the many others amongst us.

I am afraid of you

and of what you may do to my son tomorrow.

And,

I am afraid for you.