While I was in the City I picked up my Son and took him grocery shopping. His half of the basket was full of fresh vegetables, chicken, Captain Crunch, olive oil, whole milk, and Pepsi. My half was full of deli ham, cheese, two gallons of skim milk, sour cream, bananas, grapes, strawberries, and Hostess cupcakes.
Ten years ago those halves would have had the opposite ownership.
It’s funny how people change.
Son eats mostly healthful nourishing foods that he prepares himself, unless an indulgent parent takes him to a restaurant. He’s an excellent cook, partly because he has a natural talent for it and partly because he’s had several girlfriends who were in the culinary school.
When he lived at home, he ate pretty much anything I fixed for him, and when he was little I fixed healthy foods. When he was in high school, he subsisted on cereal, pizza and grilled cheese. When he visits, he still wants pizza and grilled cheese. And fried eggs. On his own, he’s Mr. Healthy Diet.
I felt a little funny as I compared the two halves of the basket. It was sort of a combination of “Obi-Mom has taught you well,” and “Gross, where’s the Kraft cheese?”
The Captain Crunch tells me there’s still a little boy inside that very, VERY tall young man. With the clear, bright blue eyes. And bright red hair. (Michele, are you listening?)
On the way home I took him to Red Lobster and watched him rip into a platter of flailing clawed legs and tails. He used the cracker well. (On his own I have no doubt that he probably occasionally rips into flailing legs and tails but I want no details, none whatsoever.) (I mean it.)
My Son has grown up. He is courteous to the servers, and considerate of his doddering mother. He still rails against the Establishment, but then, so do I.
As a child, my Son was precious, sweet, sensitive, creative, cuddly, and precocious. As a teenager, he had some serious rebellions that had serious consequences. He learned from them. We all learned from them. As an adult, he’s again precious, sweet, sensitive, creative, cuddly, and precocious. Plus, he’s cool. (I mean it, Michele; pay attention!)
It’s an endearing sight to see a grown man eating Captain Crunch. And digging inside the box for the prize. And playing with it at the table.
My Son has turned out to be a really great person. I’d like to take credit for that but I can’t. He did it himself. As parents, we are there and we try our best to help, but we can’t do it for them.
Parents are kind of like the officials at a basketball game. We show them how the game is played. We dole out rewards, and punishments, and time-outs, and keep score. But ultimately it is the player who is responsible for the outcome. Outside interference is a foul, and brings penalties. Each basket is two points, and if there are no points scored, it’s no one’s fault but the player. No basket, no points. Just like life.
As for my doctor’s visit, it seems that my knees are in so much pain because I have little or no cartilage left in them. Grind, grind, grind. My doctor gave me some pills to take, and some more pills for intense pain. I will also need to get cortisone shots under my kneecaps, occasionally. All of this is actually good news.
I had feared the Muscular Dystrophy was getting worse. The Jerry Lewis Telethon will be looming up before us next Labor Day, and I had visions of myself on stage, wobbling pathetically and inspiring people to donate money for the poor old rickety woman. And worse, pretending Jerry Lewis was funny.
I’ll get the results of the blood work in a few days. I’m really not too worried about it.
Oh, and I found chocolate-covered coffee beans for my brother-in-law. Shopping’s officially done.
My knees still hurt terribly, but now that the fear is gone, it doesn’t seem to bother me as much.
Also, I want one of those Hostess cupcakes. And I want it now.
Gluttonously yours,
The end.