My son, bless his heart, has always been a little different. While other boys his age were obsessed with sports and video games, he gravitated towards the kitchen. It started with cookies – simple, chocolate chip cookies that he’d proudly present to the family. Then he moved on to more ambitious projects – pies with perfectly crimped crusts, loaves of bread with golden-brown tops, and eventually, elaborate cakes that looked like they belonged in a professional bakery. He has a natural talent, a gift, really. His creations not only look amazing but taste divine. He even started taking special requests from his friends; birthdays, graduations, anything was an excuse for him to bake something special. He really puts his heart and soul into it. It’s his passion. He even dreams of going to culinary school. It’s his happy place. You know, the place where he feels most at peace. It is the activity that makes him most proud. I have always encouraged his passion, because I truly believe it is what he was made to do.
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However, my mother has always been… less than supportive. She’s a traditionalist, through and through. In her mind, there are certain things that boys should do, and certain things that girls should do, and never the twain shall meet. She sees baking as a “feminine” pursuit, something that’s beneath him. She doesn’t understand why he doesn’t spend his time playing sports or tinkering with cars, like “a normal boy.” She never misses an opportunity to make a snide remark or a dismissive comment about his baking. She would always ask questions, like, [ “WHY DOESN’T HE DO MORE BOYISH THINGS?” ]. She always makes her thoughts and disapproval VERY clear.
It’s gotten to the point where my son actively avoids her. He knows that any interaction with her will inevitably lead to criticism and negativity. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, to explain that her words are hurting him, but she just brushes it off. She says she’s just trying to steer him in the right direction, to make sure he doesn’t grow up to be “some kind of sissy.” It’s ridiculous and hurtful. I feel awful that my son has to endure this kind of negativity from someone who should be his biggest supporter.
Recently, my mother came to visit for a few days leading up to my son’s twelfth birthday. He had been planning his birthday cake for weeks, poring over cookbooks and sketching out designs. He was so excited to show her what he had planned. I was at work that day, so I wasn’t there to witness what happened. But when I got home, I found my son in his room, [ “SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY.” ] His entire body was shaking, and tears were streaming down his face. I immediately rushed to his side, my heart pounding in my chest. I asked him what was wrong, but he could barely get the words out.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to choke out, “Grandma… Grandma said…” He trailed off, unable to continue. I held him close, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort. I told him that whatever she said, it wasn’t true, that he was a wonderful, talented, and amazing person. But he just kept crying, burying his face in my chest.
After a few minutes, he finally calmed down enough to tell me what had happened. Apparently, my mother had gone into the kitchen while he was working on his cake design. She had looked at his sketches and scoffed. She told him that it was ridiculous for a boy to be spending his time on such a silly, girly thing. She said that he was [ “EMBARRASSING THE FAMILY” ] and that [ “NO GIRL WOULD EVER WANT TO MARRY A BOY WHO SPENDS HIS TIME BAKING CAKES.” ] She went on and on, tearing down his passion, his dreams, and his self-worth. I was absolutely livid.
I stormed downstairs and confronted my mother. I told her that her words were cruel and unacceptable, that she had no right to say such things to my son. I told her that she was hurting him deeply and that I wouldn’t tolerate it. She tried to defend herself, saying that she was just trying to help him, but I wouldn’t listen. I told her to pack her bags and leave. I couldn’t stand to have her in my house any longer, poisoning my son’s life with her negativity. I looked her dead in the eyes and said [ “YOU WILL NEVER SPEAK TO MY SON AGAIN.” ]
