Son

March 13, 2017

The Danger Zone

The conversation began like this, “Enable Grammarly on your documents Mom. It will help with proofing.”

“I already use it,” I replied.

“You do?” my gentle son, Trouble, asked skepticism more than evident.

“Yes, I copy and paste the document I write into the site and then note the corrections,” I replied with a touch of Gen X pride. (Take that, you smug Millenial.)

“Ah,” he sighed with satisfaction. “Mom, I was almost impressed with you, but you haven’t enabled the app on Word or for your emails yet, have you?”

“No, Brat,” I sighed.

Don’t tell him, but I didn’t know how until I googled ‘how to enable Grammarly on a word document.’

Also, don’t tell him but I take a bit of pride that my ‘jump first, look later’ boy has grown up enough to be able to guide me. There were (many) years where I was uncertain that this would ever happen. And now this, somewhat former, caveman is getting married in two months.

The boy who wore spaghetti sauce in his hair and on his face at every meal. The boy who thought that clean flip flops could be considered ‘going out to dinner shoes’. The boy who thought that surfing counted as a shower. Yes, this boy is getting married.

And his fiancé is more than everything we could want in a future daughter-in-law. Beyond all that we love about her…my personal favorite is that she loves candy just as shamelessly as I do, she even spent a day weeding his closet of over 50 tee-shirts and then added in collared shirts with slacks and shoes that actually tie and are not meant for any form of sports.

The boy who had to run to the next-door-neighbor and ask him how to tie his tie for game day in high school can now perform this function without thought. For ten years, he has officially been an adult, but his adultness creeps up on me when I least suspect he has it in him. When my father died a few months ago after a year-long illness, he comforted me, not with sticky hands and a crayon colored piece of art (some of my favorite treasures still) but with memories of times with my dad and frequent visits and phone calls.

Sometimes I miss the boy I had to herd like a Border Collie just to keep him safe (and alive), but then he’ll announce that he’s going to run the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run along the Angeles Crest Forest and my heart expands a little. There he is, my little danger zone. I recognize this kid and know exactly what I’ll be doing that day. Following his trail (by car) with my husband and his fiancé, supplies, a first aid kit, a head full of worries, and a touch of ‘is he crazy’ pride.

I don’t have to google anything to know how grateful I am for my soon-to-be married little bundle of joy!

February 5, 2014

Happy Birthday Trouble!

The day he was born it snowed.  In Southern California.  He came into the world screaming after twelve hours of labor and an emergency c-section.  He didn’t sleep through the night for 10 months.  And he never stopped moving from the minute he woke up, until the wee hours of the evening when he would finally pass out.  The boy we fondly, with a hint of weariness, call Trouble was born 25 years ago today.

He joined his patient and far too understanding 3 1/2 year old sister, Princess, and made our family complete.

Trouble ate dirt with great abandon.  He danced on chairs, couches, and on the fireplace hearth.  He yelled.  He laughed.  And he cried mightily, but briefly when he fell.

We have a two year old picture of him at preschool where his smile and eyes are filled with innocence and peace.  He remembers getting in trouble for not listening to the clown who was taking his picture right before it was snapped.

When he was five, he watched the same video of a dirt mountain getting blown up over and over again.  He cheered every time the dirt exploded into the air.

We did not buy him toy guns or any other toy that could be mistaken for a weapon so he took wood blocks and ran through the house yelling, “Pow!”

He never played inside of a jungle gym.  Instead he always elected to climb along the outside until he reached the top.

He sprained his neck jumping on a trampoline.  He broke his elbow skimboarding on the sand.  He broke his finger and nose playing basketball.  (These are only a small sampling of his injuries.) And still he has never stopped examining the world in his free form, all out fashion.

He made his sister a music mix-tape CD when she went off to college and stared, without sound, out the window the entire two hour drive home.  As soon as he could drive, he met her to surf on the weekends.

He never chose the obvious path, instead choosing to muck through weeds to find his course in life.  Where once he wanted to be a garbage man, then an NBA basketball player, he chose medicine as his field, not for anyone but himself.

When his grandfather lay dying two months ago, he drove hours to sit by his bedside.  He sat stoically with all of us listening to stories and holding his grandfather’s hand.  When it was time for him to leave, he stared at his beloved grandfather, giant tears rolling down his face.  He whispered that he loved him and squeezed his hand one last time.

He always reminds us with funny texts, a quick call, or a long email note how important we are to him.

He and his sister are the splash of sunshine that lurks behind every cloud.

I love every chaotic, loud, sandy, dusty, funny, empathetic, hungry inch of him.

Happy 25th Birthday Trouble!

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Some of the colors ‘Trouble’ has added to our life.