Tag Archives: teens

Check Your Mirrors

Somebody sing "Sunrise, Sunset" while I cry.

Somebody sing “Sunrise, Sunset” while I cry.

Victoria passed her driver’s test today. Parallel parking and everything. She’s sixteen and on her way.

A few months after G and I started dating, I was over at their house. Victoria was watching TV with her friend Emma and didn’t hear G when he called to her from the kitchen. I told him, “She’s transfixed.” From the living room, Victoria hollered, “I’m not six–I’m six AND A HALF!”

That’s only a year older then than Carlos is now. Jeez. I blinked and this happened.

Well, when it was time for her to go back over to her other house tonight, she came out to the pool where I was skimming green sludge. She put her arm around me for a hug. “You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? We’ve got pool cleaning to do and it’s Taco Tuesday!” She laughed. “As fun as that sounds, I better get going…”

As she walked away, I felt this overwhelming urge to say “BE CAREFUL! CALL WHEN YOU GET THERE. DON’T PICK UP HITCHHIKERS. REMEMBER YOUR BLIND SPOTS. CHECK YOUR MIRRORS BEFORE YOU REVERSE AND DON’T FORGET TO LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER TOO. WHAT I’M SAYING IS CHECK YOUR MIRRORS BUT DON’T RELY ON YOUR MIRRORS, ALWAYS LOOK TWICE. LOOK TWICE, SAVE A LIFE, MOTORCYCLES ARE EVERYWHERE. DON’T RIDE A MOTORCYCLE.”

Instead, for the first time in my life as a parent, I said the same thing Daddy always said when one of us was leaving–“Be careful. I don’t have any extra children.”

I get it. I get what he was feeling. You want to see them grow and get more capable, but oh, there’s so much they don’t even know to look for yet. But we smile and send them out into the world with a little wave.

P.S. – I just remembered another little tidbit about that day at G’s house when Victoria was six AND A HALF. I got my first speeding ticket on the way over there! Going 45 in a 35 down College Station Road. After 21 years of driving without a ticket, I got THREE that summer! Speeding, rolling through a stop sign, and a parking ticket downtown. So what the hell do I know?

Boys Will Be Boys

Plaza de Cesar Chavez, San Jose CA

Plaza de Cesar Chavez, San Jose CA

My son is already sleeping 2000 miles away as I sit here in the Plaza de Cesar Chavez in San Jose watching boys be boys.  The sky is dark outside Carlos’ window.  He is tucked under the I Spy quilt, or maybe the zoo blanket.  I imagine he’s wearing his “Beep Beep It’s Time to Sleep” pajamas but I don’t know because G has been putting him to bed while I’ve been at BlogHer.  In the whirl of the conference, I had distractions to keep my mind from wandering to what I am missing at home.  But today, there’s plenty of time to sit in the breezy sunshine of California and imagine my baby so much closer to dusk, closer to sleep.

I picked a bench in the shade of a sycamore tree, not knowing that I had a ringside seat to the show.  One by one, the teenage boys arrived on their bikes.  Knit hats pulled low, ear buds, skater shoes tucked into Velcro straps to hold their feet on the pedals.  Like most teenage boys, they ached with cool detachment.  They lined themselves up, taking turns at the wide open space of the plaza.  I could sense that there was a pecking order that they knew as to who would go first and who got to ride alone and who had to share.

Catching Air in San Jose

Catching Air in San Jose

After the first boy flipped his bike in the air and nailed the landing, I gasped with delight and almost clapped.  They eyed me and remembered not to smile.  They started to preen when my camera came out.  I asked one guy if I could take his picture and he nodded.  He took his turn, attempted a mid-air twirl, and busted it.  His friends pitched shit his way.  One guy yelled, “Is the bike OK?” and they laughed quietly.

Their tricks grew ballsier as more people stopped to watch. Swooping and spinning then stopping en pointe.  Hopping along the granite steps and riding backwards on one wheel. Weaving together and taking turns.  A new guy showed up, going too fast and the coolest of the cool yelled, “Coming in hot!”  Every rider braked for safety.  When a little girl toddled across the plaza to her mother, every boy stopped his bike.  It was sweet to see, how they maintained that teenage frisson and the gentleness of someone older and the joy of someone younger.  These boys are masters of balance.

Then I heard an awful wet plop a few feet from me.  With a mother’s reflexes, I assumed someone was barfing up slurpee after too much sun and fun.  But no.  A grizzled man in brown corduroy pants had taken off his shirt to bathe himself in the water fountain.  He used a pine green wash cloth from the bundle of possessions in his cart.  He took his time.  The boys rode past the homeless man with the same gentle respect they had given the little girl–making room for everyone.

That’s when I thought about Carlos, tucked safe in his bed in Georgia.  Which of these boys will my boy become?  Will he be the teenager on the bike?  The ringleader of the one coming in hot?  The young father watching from the benches?  The tired man pushing the ice cream cart or the homeless man bathing in the water fountain?