Like son, like son

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Figure"That night she laid herself down most sorrowful and afraid upon her bed and this night she said openly to her own heart that none knew if he would ever come back again."—Pearl S. Buck, The Mother This 17-year-old boy is here for his annual physical examination. He'll be a senior this year, the last season of his wrestling career. I ask him if he has any plans after high school graduation. He tells me that he plans to enlist in the Marines. Evidently, it's something he's always wanted to pursue—a career in the military service. I note the extensive sunburn on his back, shoulders, and face. He tells me that he fell asleep on the beach over the weekend. He can't stand sunblock on his skin. This is a major problem, because he's blond, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned. I banter back and forth with him, asking him about his girlfriend and his car. When I ask him what he's been doing with his summer, he says he's been "sitting in, moving out, and working as a day laborer on a farm." I ask him what sitting in means, and he tells me it means lying on the couch and watching TV. I ask him what moving out means, and he tells me it means moving out of the house to get an apartment of his own or live with another family. When I ask him why he would want to do that at the beginning of his senior year of high school, he tells me that he's been at loggerheads with his parents for some time—"maybe years"—and that he doesn't want to talk about it beyond that, because talking about it only makes him angry. I decide to respect his wish and move on to the physical examination. He's gained close to 15 pounds since last winter, nearly all of it solid muscle. Apart from the extensive sunburn on his skin, there are no other physical findings of note. I talk with him about avoiding excessive sun exposure; I administer his tetanus booster and complete the paperwork for his school sports participation. "Good luck!" I say, as he saunters down the hallway. His younger brother is waiting in the adjacent room, also here for a routine physical examination. I take the opportunity to ask him how things are going at home. "Fine," he says, tight-lipped, and leaves it at that. Afterwards, I complete his paperwork and walk it out to the front desk. When I call his mother back from the waiting room to review the results of the examinations, she immediately bursts into tears. Quickly, I usher her into a side room and motion for her to sit down. I offer her a box of tissues and wait. "My oldest son, did he say anything to you?" she asks, wiping her eyes. "He said things weren't going well at home, and he didn't want to talk about it, because talking about it only makes him angry." She nods her head. "He's got a lot of anger pent up inside. He wants to move out of the house. He says that there's a couple of families that offered to take him in, but I'm having a difficult time letting him go." "These things are never easy," I tell her. I pause momentarily to gather the thoughts running through my head. "Look, you've entrusted me with his medical care since he was a baby. He's always been a good kid. You've brought him up right. Sometimes in these instances the best thing you can do is let them go. Eventually, he'll find his way, and one day he'll come back on his own." "You think so?" I nod my head. "My wife and I raised four kids. One of our sons was just like your boy. We went through some tough times with him. He ended up leaving home to enlist in the service and got himself straightened out. Now he's self-sufficient, holding down a good job. Life has a way of coming around and working itself out." "My husband says the same thing: 'Let him go, he'll come around on his own.' I guess sometimes that's all you can do." She wipes her eyes one last time and rises to go. "Thanks for your time." The American humorist Garrison Keillor once remarked that every child is born to break his parents' hearts. I suppose in some sense that's true. Like this mother's son, like my son. Sometimes at the end of the day, the best you can do before you crawl into bed is to leave the back door unlocked and make sure the porch light is on.