Raising Arizona

I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but this is not a witty blog about Nic Cage.  Rather, this is a blog about raising a boy who would rather remain nameless. . . so for now, I will just refer to him as Arizona.  You see, Arizona came out of the womb on full tilt.  He is about as vibrant as any human can be.  He is also the kind of kid that makes you read every book by Dobson—especially those that refer to the strong-willed type.  His gifts and talents amaze me.  Since the ripe old age of two, the boy could walk into a McDonald’s play land and have 15 or so kids asking to go home with him. . .  a modern day pied piper.  Needless to say, raising Arizona is one of the most challenging tasks I am facing.  So, imagine if you will a boy named Arizona entering the teen years.  I genuinely had no idea that eyes could roll that far back into a person’s head.  Nor, was I aware of how many different ways you could communicate angst without using words.  So how does a parent muddle through?  Well, I try to remind myself daily that this is just a boy whose body is revolting.  You see, his body is trying very hard to turn him into a man, and as far as I can tell, it is not asking him if that is his preference.  The previous ‘enemies’ of his life (girls) have begun to catch his eye, while his brain has not yet caught up to the fact that they were never really the enemy.  His teachers and coaches no longer coddle him.   He suddenly cares about what his hair and clothes look like, and that adds a layer of pressure he has never felt before.  I wish I could tell you that I see this little boy’s battle every time he does something foolish, but alas, sometimes, he gets the best of me, and I forget to apply grace.  So, if you happen to see me pass by with a disconcerted look on my face, just remind me that raising Arizona will likely be my greatest legacy. . .