Beware: I have a mind of my own.

A few days ago, one of my Facebook friends had a status that went something like "The hardest thing in life is being the parent of adult children."
I have no idea what she was referencing, but when I first read it, I thought about her grown youngest son who had moved to California and who she missed dearly. I feel sad for her because I know how much she misses him, but I know and understand his need to get away and be his own person.
Then it got me to thinking about my own life as an "adult child" and the things that are transpiring within it now.
In two weeks, Gordo and I will have been married for three years. I think back to when we were planning our wedding and debating with my parents about what *we* wanted apposed to what *they* wanted. Such anxiety.
See, Gordo's been his own person, independent from his parents for many years now. Part of me was very envious of that. I, on the other hand, wanted to please my parents. Make them happy; keep them happy. I understood that my parents were right, and I needed to do what I was told, regardless of whether of not I agreed.
So three years ago when we were planning our wedding and Gordo and I wanted one thing and they wanted another, I didn't know what to do. Go against my parents? Tell them that I didn't agree? Tell them its my life and even though you're paying for the wedding that doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do with one of the most important days of our life?
I was 29 years old and Gordo taught me to stand up for myself. Your an adult and you have a mind of your own. Just because they are putting out money doesn't mean that they own you. You tell me when you don't agree with me, he said, why can't you tell them?
It was like a light went off in my head. I am an adult! I do have a mind of my own! I am allowed to disagree with them and we will still love each other tomorrow!
And you know what, we did get our way for the wedding. Because it was our wedding, they already had theirs.
Now we are three months away from having a baby and it starts all over again. You would think that the fact that a 34 year old and a 32 year old are having a baby after three years of marriage would be a red flag that we are adults. Guess not.
The first major milestone in a Jewish baby boy's life is his Bris. His circumcision. At eight days old, just home from the hospital, we will have our family and close friends at our house for bagels and lox, brownies, coffee and to watch my boy's foreskin get taken off without so much as a shot of novocaine. What will he wear for such an event? The yamaka his Grammie Gordon bought for him in Israel, or the one his Uncle Jason wore for his Bris? For days I mulled it over in my seven months pregnant, anxiety-ridden brain. I had to have out with it. I had to confront or the anxiety would eat me alive. Baby boy is already going to sleep in the bassinet that I did and wear home from the hospital the beautiful sweater his Great Grandmother made for him and the outfit she bought for him. Wouldn't it be nice for him to have something from Gordo's family, I said to my mother. But wouldn't it be nice for it to stay in the family and carry on a tradition, she said. That is nice, why don't you save it for when Jason has children? Maybe the tradition of this yamaka will start with our baby, I said. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings on this, I said, but we would like him to have things that are from Gordo's family too. Is that okay, I said? If that is what you want, then it is okay, she said. She wasn't happy, but she said it.

And everyone lived and everyone is still a family and everyone still loves each other.


My name is Stacey. I am 32 years old and I have a mind of my own. Thank you Gordo (and a few years of therapy) for teaching me how to stand up for myself.