My Son, Too

by — Aug 16, 2010

I can’t stop the water.

He’s gone.

And I know that, really, my tears are perfectly ridiculous. I mean, the boy had to grow up some time, right? His moving out was inevitable the starting of his life without us as essential as water.

The sun.


And besides, this was the point of it all. We raise our children and love on them and pray for them and prepare them as best we can to go out into the world and succeed. Maybe even be better than us. And if we’ve done our jobs right, then their leaving should be met with pure, unadulterated joy.

Still, it’s the leaving that’s the hard part the day you hug them and kiss them good-bye and close the door behind them, knowing full well that when the lock catches and your hand, clammy and unsteady, loosens its grip on the knob, everything is changed.

I can tell you this much: I didn’t expect that I would feel this way about Mazi going on to college. If I’m being really honest, I didn’t think I would feel this way about Mazi ever at least not in the beginning. He is, you see, my son. But not really. Specifically, he is my stepson, the product of my husband’s first marriage. I’ve known Mazi since he was a 1-year-old and, despite my better judgment at the time, I’ve been in his life since he was three. When his father and I decided to date, I was of the firm belief that while Nick was a perfectly lovely guy, I didn’t want a long-term relationship with a man who already had a son. I had no interest in raising someone else’s child and plus, I wanted to share in the first-time parent experience with a man who didn’t have to split his love between our child and another who wasn’t mine. Naïve and selfish, I know.

But then I saw Nick with Mazi; he was loving and responsible and fully vested in his child’s upbringing in a way that reminded me so much of the way my dad was/is a father to me. And I realized that I was getting an up close and personal view into the kind of father Nick would be to my own babies a valuable trait that played a huge factor in why I said, I do to the man. And why I said I do to being Mazi’s step mom.

Being a step mom wasn’t always so easy. In the beginning, I was none too pleased about losing weekends with my husband, who was busy traveling four hours each way to visit Mazi where he lived with his mom. And when Mazi came to visit us, especially after I had children of my own, I walked the delicate tightrope between treating Mazi in every way as if he were my own and being afraid to treat him like he was my own because, well, he wasn’t. How do you mete out rules for and discipline a stepchild without being viewed as the wicked step mom? How do you gain the respect of a child who calls someone else mom and you by your first name? How do you not resent the bond between father and son, who, in their excitement to see each other in the small spaces allotted non-custodial parents, seemingly close out the rest of the world to focus on each other, to the detriment of your own girl children? It was an uneasy arrangement, but an arrangement I signed up for and had to make work.

Things got especially testy when Mazi’s mom made the incredibly brave decision to send her son to live with us. He was 14 and having one-too-many Boyz ˜N The Hood moments and needed the firm man hand on his shoulder to usher him through the testiest of adolescent and teen years, and that safe haven had to be with us. I expected Mazi to come to the home I’d made with my husband and our daughters and turn it upside down, but who was I to deny Nick the chance to be a hands-on father to his son something for which he’d prayed for 13 long years? The boy needed his daddy. His daddy needed him. Compared to that, my needs were inconsequential.

But the slow fusion of our worlds the blending of our families was valuable. For all of us. Nick was blessed with the ability to parent up close. Mazi was blessed with the ability to learn what it takes to be a real man smart, respectful, dedicated, strong from his father, in a world where all-too-many black boys never get that honor. My girls, who’d always adored their big brother, got to bond with him in ways that never would have happened had he continued to live in another house in another state. And I got to see just how special this child was how funny and protective and responsible and loving he could be, even to a woman who hadn’t given birth to him, but was/is an integral part of his life.  We bonded over music (we could discuss a Jay-Z rhyme or a Go-Go beat by Wale for hours on end), food (our family makes a point of sitting down to dinner every night, schedules be damned), girls (the boy was never shy about asking why all those little girls he called himself dating did what girls do) and football (he plays, I watch and learn). And the day he called me Mama instead of Dee was absolutely unexpected and unforgettable. Our bond was cemented.

And now, he is gone from here. And every time I pass by his room or think to tell him to take out the garbage or hear a new Wale song or see his status updates on FaceBook or get an update from his Dad, who helped him settle in on the campus, I get teary all over again.

Everything has… changed.

I haven’t told him this. Maybe I won’t ever. He doesn’t need to stress about my sadness. I think I’ve hid it well. When Mazi left, I avoided the big, slobbery good-bye just hugged him hard and told him to behave and make me proud. I know he will. Mazi is a good kid.

A good man.

His father, mother and I had a hand in making this so.

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  1. This actually brought tears to my eyes. You are such a wonderful writer.

  2. Yes, I am over here in tears. This was beautiful, raw, honest…just written like you put your soul on the keyboard.

    Congrats to you, Nick and Mazi's mom for raising such a wonderful young man. Job well done. 🙂

  3. a beautiful post. You may not be Mazi's mom but you are a great influence in his life and I'm glad that you, Nick and his mom could work together as a team to raise a great young man. Congrats and good luck on future endeavors Mazi!

  4. Absolutely brilliant. I felt a little tug in my throat as well. You've captured the fear and emotion I expect to fell so well…and my oldest is only 5!

  5. Teresha@Marlie and Me

    I'm weepy over here! Raising a man with a good head on his shoulders is no small feat…applause all around!

  6. I needed to read this today. My husband and I took our oldset child to move in day at her college on Saturday. I am so full, sadness, pride, all mixed together;.

  7. What an awesone piece Denene! I started bawling at "The boy needed his daddy. His daddy needed him. Compared to that, my needs were inconsequential". That is a powerful statement which speaks volume about your lovely character. I've never had my father in my life. I met him once when I was 13, that's it. I'll be 33 in September, married to a great man who will never leave his 2 little brown girls and at times I still wonder why this person choose not to be a part of my life, why he didn't want to get to know me, see me graduate, walk me down the aisle…I ache for all the little girls and boys growing up fatherless. Its something that they will never get over. Nick,I salute you! When I see black men actively supporting their children, it warms my heart and brightens my day. Thank you for being the role model that your son needed you to be. Denene, you're awesome, but I'm sure you already know that:) To Mazi's mom, I salute you too lady, you did what you knew was best for your baby boy. That is what the strength of a black woman is all about!

  8. oh wow. that was beautiful. great post. wait a minute, how come my screen is blurry all of a sudden?? i can't see the words well. i think i got something in my eye. pls excuse me. *walks away and grabs a tissue*

  9. The Broke Socialite

    I could not hold back the tears. My very own Mazi (his name is Gareth) leaves for SMU in Dallas on Wednesday. When I married Mr TBS, Gareth walked into my heart, too. Our relationship is special and it's difficult to let him go but it's necessary. I can't help but remember all of the ball games, dinners. laughs and good times when I've looked in his face these past few days. He is our only child and that makes it even more difficult. My solace rests in knowing that we have groomed a fine young man: thoughtful, compassionate, brilliant and confident. Please pass the Kleenex.

  10. what a beautiful post, and what a lucky young man to have so many people that love him!! I think i will just by a cage for my kids when they get to college age and they can do school online from home..hahaha j/k

  11. mazi got a big ol head lol

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