Precious Oldest broke up with Boyfriend over the weekend. I didn’t expect him to make it through the summer, much less this far into the school year. From the start he was much more smitten; and knowing my girls as I do, I recognized that this was not a good omen for the Boy.
But damn it people, he’s been hanging for around eight or so months now. And even though he started out as just Prom Date, and even though I try not to get attached, its hard. He’s a nice kid, academically excellent, easygoing. He treated Precious Oldest exactly as you would want a boy to treat your daughter; kindly, thoughtfully, with respect, with humor, and with copious compliments to her mother’s cooking.
When Oldest called to tell me the news I may have been less than supportive. I have may have blurted out something along the lines of “Poor Boyfriend! Do you think there’s any way you’ll get back together?” I know, Meanest Mother awards all over the place yet again. But my mind flashed on this gentle boy getting his heart handed to him. (Let’s just say I could empathize.) The fact that his infatuation caused the “claustrophobia” that led to the breakup barely entered my consciousness during that phone conversation.
The next morning, standing in the shower, I realized I hadn’t acknowledged Precious Oldest’s feelings about the matter much at all. She was upset and I was worried about some boy? He was not the first and is surely not the last! So I called her first thing to apologize for sounding less than sympathetic to her pain. She said it was hard. She said her stomach still hurt. She said he was very upset. (Uh yeah, excluding mine, she doesn’t like to hurt other people’s feelings.) She said thank you for listening.
And I? Silently thanked God for not being a teenager any more. Because even if you are the one doing the heart breaking? Its heartbreaking.