My first born child is now 17 years old. In many countries around the world he would have long since been considered a man. He would have a wife and children by now. That is not the case in our society. He is, for all intents and purposes, still my child. I still have control over the time he has to be home. I still have to tell him to shower, brush his teeth, clean his room, and apply his acne medicine. I have posed this question to him on occasion; "What condition would you be in if I did not hound you to do the most basic things that need to be done?". I almost always get a shrug and a big smile. I have to wonder if I have properly prepared him to 'leave the nest'.

 I have taught him to respect women and he does. He can cook simple meals for himself, do laundry, and clean an entire house. I have taught him that money must be earned and saved. Priorities and goals must be set and followed. He is compassionate and kind. He will be a good husband and father one day. Though I can't help but wonder when. When will he be ready? Is any child ever truly ready to leave the comforts of home-cooked meals, rent free living, clean sheets, and seemingly endless hot water? Have I done too much? Have I done too little?

 There has never been a father in my son's life, much to my dismay. I hope that I have not raised an incomplete man. I know that his saddness over not having a father turned to anger when he was about 12. I know that he does not resent me for his fathers actions, or lack there of. I still feel as though I have failed him. I was not able to provide my child with what I consider to be a basic need; a father. What is missing in my son that would be there had his father been around him? Perhaps the son that I know and love would not be the funny, bubbly, silly boy he turned out to be had his father cared. I will never know.

 When it came time for his first shave I had to ask my friends husband what to do. After all, I do not shave my face. He got through it with only a few nick's. That was the day that I knew the end was near. The end of my little boy being home, safe with me. He is indeed becoming a man. He will leave to chase his dreams. He will make me proud, I just know it. Is it not my job to give him roots and wings? He knows, as most children do, that his roots run deep at home. I just don't know how strong his wings are.

 I find it hard at times to determine what is an acceptable tolerance of his struggle with independence and free will. I do not want to smother him nor do I want him to run wild. I know that a child oppressed will only rebel and harbor contempt for their oppressor. I make my reasons clear to him when enforcing a rule that he deems 'ridiculous'. Otherwise there is a communication breakdown and that leaves room for misinterpretation and disobedience. Parenting is an art. My son's adulthood will determine just how good of an artist I was when I painted his childhood.