Or Believing is Believing
I have a grown-up son.
Naturally, this didn’t happen overnight although I am seriously questioning my notions of time and how it’s perceived. It won’t come as a surprise to other parents with grown-up kids that it DID seem like yesterday he was a toddler. The reverse side of the coin is that of course this is of NO interest to any other category of the population, category which is invited back in a couple of weeks for the upcoming newsletter which, after stone giants and fairy tale castles, will complete my monumental trilogy. (By that I don’t mean it’s a trilogy of epic proportions of course, just that it’s about monuments.)
As for yesterday’s toddler, now I can no longer tell my clothes from his (except that his are a bit nicer). I no longer need to sermonize; he’s not even legally obliged to pay attention to what I say.
Nor can I really remember or strike up any parallels with when I was his age. (This of course has the added benefit of not allowing me the preamble “When I was your age…”, which was the phrase that resulted in sudden selectively impaired hearing – that much I DO remember – when I was in my teens.) I also admit to having failed as a father in many areas – for example, communicating the fact that the light switches ALSO permit turning lights OFF.
But, I digress.
On the landing (he inhabits the uppermost floor of our house) there is a wicker basket, the kind gardeners use to gather dead leaves. Sturdy. Two handles. Not too high, fairly wide. Ample.
Dirty laundry eventually ends up there (often after a lengthy sojourn behind furniture, under the bed, on the floor) and is whisked away by me to the laundry room, generally when questions like “Do I have any CLEAN shirts?” are hanging in the air.
When he was younger, I used to joke about the magic laundry basket that miraculously – no questions asked – cleaned, ironed, folded and returned in neat sorted piles the jumble of dirty laundry he deposited there. It was a hint, obviously, that chores were chores, and a reminder not to take everything for granted. I used to hassle him about tidying his room, about putting books back on the shelf, pointing out the logic behind picking things up rather than just skirting them.
All that has changed. Now I keep my eye open for messy piles of books or papers, just in case there’s something I can straighten up without him noticing. I hover hopefully when he’s getting ready to head off somewhere, just in case he’d like a ride. (I am irremediably reminded of a family dog with leash in mouth and walkies on his mind; with me it’s car keys in hand.) Every time he’s out, I always propose to pick him up if the buses are too sparse. When there’s a concert within driving distance I happily chauffeur a little crowd of teenagers to it, hang around until they’re ready to return (I always have something to read/write/draw stashed in the trunk of the car), drop them off at their doors.
But most of all, I’m the one who believes now in the magic laundry basket. I’ll take anything that will incite him to linger here a while longer. That’s the great thing about teenagers, they are avidly acquiring so much knowledge that if you tag along you can pick up a lot. I know what a neume is now, for example, and what sesquialtera means (or at least I think so). I can finally tell the difference between a theorbo and an archlute, or at least sometimes. When kids pick up speed and their lives lead them elsewhere, then you have the one chance to jump on board and go as far as the ride takes you. Hopefully, in the same way I was briefly an expert on dinosaurs, or knew everything about Star Wars or Warhammer, I’ll soon be an expert-by-osmosis on early music and who knows what else in the future…
Vicarious? Absolutely! Meddling? Well, with laudable intent.
But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. There might be some dirty socks in that basket.
INBOX
I asked the sender of this note if I could share it with you. What was that saying about a picture being worth a certain quota of words?
“thank you for your work. my boyfriend and i just split up, we werent talking till just today i sent him one of your drawings i knew he would love. he sent me one back. we are now talking again. thank you for sharing your talents with others. its just what we needed.”
DOCUMENTARY
Received a few shots for the opening credits from the documentary in the Alsace. I will post more as they arrive. (The film editing will commence next week; I will update as I get news.)
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SUNRISE
There are mornings when my son pokes the breakfast table setting in a desultory manner and enquires “No croissants?” That’s when I realize that I did indeed head out to the bakery armed with some change and the best of intentions, but got sidetracked by the sunrise. “But I got some nice photos,” I reply. “Cereal today instead?”
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