Words of power?

There are two simple words in the English language that change their meaning as one ages, especially when they are used in the context of motherhood.

The first is the word "let." It is a word that can be used in a passive sense, as when there is no objection: I let him kiss me. Or it can connote the granting of permission: I let my child go to a PG-13 movie. For a few days I've been thinking about all the degrees of permission and permissiveness that this word suggests. I thought about something my niece said to me when she found out that my sons and my husband had done a male-bonding-thing and were sporting matching tattoos.

"You let them get a tattoo?" I think I laughed out loud. It wasn't that what she said was funny, it was just that the word "let" was well beyond the scope of my power.

"Let?" I said. "Let? That would imply that I was consulted in this Luzzi-man ritual." She understood what I was saying, but I think she will understand it even more in about 20 years when her daughter is 23, and her second child, now a mere bun in the oven, will be leaving teen years behind. After kids reach a certain age, there is very little "letting" unless a car is involved, or unless it means letting someone make their own decisions in order to let them learn from experience.

The other word that has changed for me is the work "make," as in the phrase "make him clean his room." I love that old romantic song, "You made me love you, I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it." It's nice to think that it just might be possible to make someone fall in love with you. I'll leave that discussion for another day, but for now I just want to think about the power that is implied by the word "make." I learned long ago that I couldn't "make" my kids do anything. One of my kids was a picky eater, and I couldn't make him eat what he didn't like. Of course, there were ways to coerce, cajole, compel, persuade, entice, negotiate, or influence the kids toward a desired outcome. "Make" for me usually meant "ask and nag," although the results were spotty and often frustrating. I couldn't even "make" The Beagle do anything he didn't want to do, unless, of course, there was food in my hand.

But now that I think of it, I can make some things happen. I can "make" a lane on the freeway come to a halt by deciding to merge into it. I routinely pick the slowest line in the grocery store, "making" those behind me frustrated. I can even "make" my son's cell phone ring. I have begun to wonder if it's more than just pernicious coincidence. All I have to do is begin a sentence or ask him a question. Without fail, his phone rings, and without fail I say, "I can make your phone ring." He doesn't laugh.

It's all just a matter of power and control, and apparently, I don't have any. I don't mind. I can "make" my point of view known when something is important to me, and I have also learned when to "let" it go. Maybe that's more powerful.