The Boy, my first born, my sweet angel, my turkey face. Yes, that was one of his nicknames too. Don’t ask me why. I have no clue; although as I type this, I remember when was barely 2 months old, he’d make the funniest poopy face. Yeah, no, still have no idea why I called him turkey face.
The Boy has been on my mind a lot lately. He’s about to turn 22. I haven’t seen him in just over 3 years (in person). He was stationed in South Korea, met a gal and married her, and is now in Japan serving in the Air Force [sniff, sniff]. I’ve been reminiscing over photos and memories which led me to remember one of my most enlightening parenting moments and one of my most embarrassing parenting moments. Gratefully, the latter event did not happen in my presence.
Bless his heart; he was my learning-curve child. The first time I truly realized how much my actions affected him was when he was barely 3 years old. It’s an honest statement to say I’m an aggressive driver. Back then, I was really aggressive
and might still be. I’d weave in-and-out of traffic, all the while calling the other drivers “Idiot!” On this particular day, I remember that Radiohead’s “Creep” was playing and remember the exact stretch of highway on which I was driving. I can’t recall what caused me to swerve, but I did. I love Radiohead so I must have been too wrapped up in the song to realize that I did not yell out my typical rant. Turns out I didn’t have to. The Boy handled it just fine. My precious 3 year old baby boy yelled at the top of his lungs, “I D I O T!!” Oh my goodness, what have I done?!?
Fast forward a year and a half.
The Boy was spending the night with my sister, Mogie. The Boy affectionately calls her Gigi, but that’s an entirely different post to come later. Gigi and her boyfriend (now husband) told me to be sure to pack clothes for him to attend one of their friend’s wedding. Seemed reasonable to me. It never occurred to me that The Boy had never attended a wedding before and it might be a little boring for him. Poor thing, for he was ill-prepared.
As my sister reports, The Boy was very fidgety. The wedding had yet to begin and he was over-the-top-insane-from-boredom. Gigi was constantly correcting him to “sit still” and “be a good boy. We’ll get ice cream later”. Finally, out of frustration, The Boy belted (not whispered, stated quietly, or said), “WEDDINGS ARE A BITCH!” The entire church turns to stare at them. I don’t remember the details my sister shared after this point. Frankly, it was hard to hear her over my hysterical laughing. I do know that The Boy behaved through the remainder of the wedding.
The Boy, my boy. Another Christmas and birthday without him. I’ll just sit, in the dark, sipping on a glass of wine, with tissue in hand. [Cue Harry Chapin].