My First Child

He's almost six feet tall, weighs well over two hundred pounds, and is built like a linebacker. There are piercings in his ears and dye in his hair. Most of his wardrobe is red or black. When he opens his mouth, there's no way of saying beforehand if he'll talk about Neil Gaiman or the injustice of America. He's eighteen years old, but I don't care if he's thirty - I'll still call him "Baby." He's my little brother.

Abie comes home tomorrow night. Before talking to him, I was excited to see him. I kept on thinking about our partnership in the Philippines, We're gonna run that joint. But then I called him and he gave me an attitude, and I realized that I'm gonna have to play mommy once we make the trek overseas. It won't be the first time, but it sure as hell will be the last time.

Ever since Abie found out about our father's infidelity, he's lost a lot of respect for him. My mom's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, so Abie doesn't look up to her either. All that's left is me. I try to teach him the best I can. I mold his thoughts and shape his personality to fit that of a successful, respectful, respectable, decent man - but I'm only five years older than him and by the time my train of thought's evolved to the next step, I have to undo everything I just finished teaching him. It's a long, involved process, and somewhere along the way he got stuck in one of my phases and I just kept on going. I guess that was bound to happen.

Now there's a different problem. My mentality is that of a forty-year old, and he's eighteen. We're going to live in the Philippines. He's at that age where he wants to figure shit out on his own and doesn't wanna hear different from anyone; I'm in the position to act like a parent. Obviously, I won't coddle him and keep him from making mistakes. But I want to be able to sleep well at night, too. So where's the right balance? How do I make sure that he's developing into a good person, and also give him the freedom to make the character-defining mistakes that everyone has to make? Is it too late to worry? Should I just have faith that I've taught him well and enabled him to survive?

Taking a step back, I see the obvious answers to the above questions, and innately I know how to handle the situation. Like all tough situations, all it takes is some time and some writing, and I know just what I should do. (Very rarely must I rely on advice from trusted sources, though I'm always happy to hear the suggestions of true friends.) But in taking the responsibility of guiding an eighteen-year old toward full maturity, I know that my parenting skills will be tested to their limit. This realization is only now washing over me: when I'm in the Philippines, I won't just have the mentality of a forty-year old; I'll be acting like one, too! I'll even have the eighteen-year old "son."

I've had several abortions, and I feel like I've brought up a kid already. I also have the feeling that my maternal desires will be quelled by the onslaught of nieces and nephews brought to my Filipino door. I wonder if all of this will stifle my urge to have children of my own; I feel like that's almost a certainty. And if it does happen, and I enjoy bringing up others' children just as much as I'd enjoy taking care of my own, I'll have satisfied another requisite of this life. I wonder how much more I'll need to do before I feel like I've really done it all.