NOW he's a man (ish)

To a 13-year-old, the thought of being treated as an adult is intoxicating -- so much so that new bar mitzvahs like my son cling to it despite being told repeatedly that maturity and the ability to read from an old book are not the same thing.

A few days after his ceremony, however, I received more-definitive evidence that my baby is growing up. Attempting to check his online medical chart, I got only as far as a screen telling me to mind my own damn business (or words to that effect). While I can still control my 10-year-old daughter's medical fate, now that my son is 13, his chart is off limits to me. If I want to regain access, I need to print a form and get his signature.

That's right: I need to get a permission slip. I'm not sure I can do it. Every parent-child relationship undergoes role reversals over time, but I thought it would take longer and would involve either money or personal hygiene. Having to asking my kid's permission -- for anything -- is truly a new stage in my life, and in his.