All the Little Grubbs

I decided yesterday that I’m not going to tell my son about that button again.

The thing is, when he walked in my room yesterday, fully dressed, needing help with his hair, I zeroed in on that stupid button.  I didn’t stop to appreciate that he had fully dressed himself.  Not just because he’s 10 now and I don’t have to help him get dressed, but because he has full function of his body and his mind, to be able to do what so many take for granted.

I might have told him “you look nice.”  In the next moment though, I shattered it.  The building up, the comfort and security of being seen and appreciated by someone who loves you, with my stupid focus on that button.

“You sure you don’t want to unbutton that top button?” I asked.  The room felt heavier immediately with tension and judgment and criticism.  We’d been down this road before, even if I’d tried to keep it light-hearted and tried to explain why people just don’t button that button, it didn’t matter.

“Why should I? Are you saying I look bad?”

“No, it’s just…it just looks…well, a little dorky.”

My son I should be learning from, not teaching, says, “Who cares? I like it this way. It’s useless to unbutton it.”

He is right.  I know he is right.  There are a lot of times when buttoning that top button might be important. A job interview let’s say or his wedding day.  But not right now.  Not when he’s 10 and heading to worship a God who doesn’t care what he’s wearing.

So yesterday was it. If someone does think that he looks like a nerd, or a dork, or whatever the going term is for someone who isn’t dressed just like everyone else and they make that known, I’ll be reminded that having a kid who doesn’t care whatever one else thinks about his fashion choices is really the better thing.