I’m baaaaaaaccccckkkk! I know, I really do feel bad. I have had a number of mommy-moments that needed expressing but were pre-empted by my schoolwork. Thankfully, I have finished my two-month long thesis and only have one more month on this particular ring of Dante’s Inferno to go before exiting the halls of higher learning. My offsprings, on the other hand, are just getting started. Knowing what I know now, I quite frequently want to smack the bejeebers out of them for being so flippant and carefree. “Don’t you have to do the research for your dinosaur project?” “It’s already done.” OR “What’s going on with the “Tangerine” book project?” “Oh, it’s done – so now I don’t have any homework.” REALLY? Do they think I’m that stupid? Okay, fine, don’t answer that.
I have reached an epiphany – I am roommates with the cast and crew of the television and movie series “Jackass”. For those of you with teenage boys and/or immature spouses, you know to what I’m referring. For those of you that lack the subjugation to the “Y” chromosome, let me explain. This show features actor/stuntman Johnny Knoxville and his crew of miscreants and features the dreams of all adolescent boys/men. This motley crew pulls pranks on unsuspecting bystanders and juvenile stunts such as skiing down hill on a toilet. For those of you who are familiar with Jeff Foxworthy’s bit on stupid stunts that start with “Here, hold my beer and watch this!” well, let’s just say this takes it a step further.
During Spring Break, we had what pundits are calling a “staycation.” In other words, we were stuck at home because hubby had to work, I had homework, and neither one of us had any money. Anyway, one of our “fun” family projects was to rebuild the kids’ fort. This was no kit from Lowe’s. No sirree – this was Julie-designed and built. Surprisingly, it turned out just as planned and was actually safe and steady. Perhaps because it was built by a woman, but I digress. Anyway, first order of business was to impart the rules of the new fort. Most importantly was no jumping off or on to the trampoline from the fort which sits about five feet off the ground. After a rousing chorus of “Yes, ma’am!” I went in to start dinner.
No sooner had I put on the pasta, did I hear the cries, “Geronimo!” And what were the little darlings doing? “Getting down” from the fort by “lunging” or “stepping” onto the trampoline. Really? But technically, “lunging” and “stepping” by definition were NOT “jumping” were the arguments posed to me. So does “beating the snot out of them” theoretically constitute “discipline”? Just kidding – NOT…
But that wasn’t to be the only “special” thing they decided to try. We got the Slip-n-Slide out since the pool wasn’t open and beach water was still a tad too cool. Clearly, after a few slips and a few slides, this particular apparatus began to lack the thrill factor that it initially had. “What to do? What to do?” swirled through their little collective pea-brain as their eyes scanned the yard only coming to rest on the BMX/skateboard ramps. Let me just say that it is peculiar feeling one gets in the gut upon witnessing a three year old being sent rocketing off a tabletop, down a ramp and across the yard. And what was the response I received after flinging open the back door and screaming at the top of my lungs, “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” The only thing they had to say was “That was AWESOME!” to which the three year old responds by laughing hysterically while chanting “I do it again!” repeatedly. See, JACKASS!!!
There were some redeeming moments that appeared this past weekend that came just as I was about to put them out on the curb with a “Free to good home” sign. The synagogue of the school where I work hosts an annual “Mitzvah Day” in which teams of people go out into the city and perform various community service projects. This is no small feat – it takes hours of preparation and throngs of volunteers. This year I captained a small but determined team of individuals that went to the VA Hospital to play bingo with the residents, serve refreshments, and visit. As the Service Project Coordinator for my oldest son’s Boy Scout Troop, I extended the invitation to the Troop since this activity was relegated to people 12 years old and up. While I must say I was rather disappointed in the Troops involvement (only three Scouts participated), I was overwhelmed by the maturity and compassion of those that did.
Not only did they look dashing in their uniforms, they were helpful and cheerful and polite, and, well, NICE. They sat down and talked to the vets, served cookies, called the bingo games, and even helped to clean up when the event was over. More than once a vet stopped me and ask if the tall red head belonged to me. Then he would always follow with, “He’s a good boy. You should be proud of him!”
Later in the week, a tragedy befell our school community with the unexpected and tragic death of our recently retired elementary principal. Since I knew he would find out about it sooner or later, I told Christopher and we talked about it on the ride home one day. He tried to stay stoic like the little man he thought he was but I could see the tears begin to well in his eyes. The only thing he could think of was wasn’t there someone that could have helped her? Could we have done something? Even in talking about her death, he wanted to take action, to take care of her, to make it better. He also wanted to make sure that I picked him up from school so he would have time to go home and change before the memorial service a few days later.
As we sat there in the sanctuary yesterday afternoon, the Rabbi described the despair the deceased had felt at the end. Memories of my brother’s funeral came rushing back to me in an almost blinding manner. Christopher leaned over and put his head on my shoulder to comfort me. Later, as we stood, he reached out to pat me on the back as I heard the clear, bright words of kaddish come from his mouth. He stood there professing his belief in G-d and mankind with a dignity and maturity that belied his age. Who was this young man next to me? At that moment, I saw before me the man who was the boy I once knew and held in my arms.
Later, we went in to the reception where he shook hands with former classmates who, a year earlier, he had run around with on the playground acting like a banshee. He greeted former teachers with manners and aplomb. I was amazed – maybe I had done okay. Maybe he did hear the lessons I thought I taught in vain. This is what I imagined it would be like one day. THIS is what I signed up for.
P.S. Okay, dry your eyes because this sooooo doesn’t last, at least not yet. No sooner had he done the requisite sip-see-and-handshake, did he eye the dessert table. After almost running over a few small people and taking out the punch bowl, he reached the table only to pile his plate as tall as Kilimanjaro with baked goods, grabbed a Sprite and made a bee-line for the door. Just as we climbed into the car, he wiped the crumbs from his face, burped, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”
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