letter to my kids
My son is 14 and I have already been the recipient of his not so discreet reminders that he is not my little boy anymore (or ANYONE else's for that matter).
I can NO LONGER choose any clothes, backpacks or school supplies without his written consent and input. He has very definite opinions about his likes and dislikes and try as I might to sway him to my way of seeing the world- this guy has got his own view and take on this planet.
This has become even more clear on our last shopping jaunt for the quintessential suit for a sweet sixteen and I have been schooled on the fact that OUR TASTES differ ( a bitter pill- but nonetheless ONE I must swallow).
Which brings me to Presley Gerber the striking (once model) son of gene queen Cindy Crawford- who is now clearly ready to move on- or at least that would appear to be the case based on all his tattoos, piercings and his hyped “misunderstood” face tattoo.
Letter to my kids
I get it Presley really I do. I was once a strapping young doe myself itching to unshackle myself from the good girl image my mother was so intent on me emblazoning for all the world to see and acknowledge via my appearance. So I did what any other self-respecting blonde haired 17 year old would do- I bought a box of black dye and dyed my hair. But I have to say- it didn't bestow me with that magical sense of vindication or new identity I so desperately wanted- rather with hair that turned kinda orange in the sun ( not the good kind) and well- it would be years until I realized that change came from inside and had very little to do with the outside.
For the record I am NOT anti-tattoo, piercings or short hair– I just don't want my kids to revert to these things without at least consulting me and having an in-depth understanding about the permanence of such decisions.
So to my two kidlets- this is my open letter to you- and especially to my son- PLEASE don't mess with the natural beauty so divinely bestowed upon you. I hear you- I will listen to you, you just need to communicate with me– You have my attention. You don't need to make sure I'm listening by carving up your body, permanently inking it or hacking off all your hair. I'm your mother I'm always listening.