A scant twenty minutes later, the creature alights from the back seat, turns to look at me, waves and plods through the dawn into a large cavernous room. Or, it may be a cave, I’m not really certain.
I arrive at the appointed time, engine running, parking lights lit, heater on ‘Sahara’, fan on ‘Cat 3 Hurricane’. I’ve been requested to do this- ‘I’m not a cold weather person.’ At least I think that’s what the combination of sounds meant. I lost my Klingon dictionary in the last move, so I’m really guessing.
The figure is taller now, in fact a hairs’ breadth taller than I. The face is obscured by a hood, but it appears to have a familiar shape to it. I recognize the hood- I bought the sweatshirt it’s attached to. I recognize the back pack- I was there when it was purchased. The shoes- well, not familiar- and the feet they encase are larger than mine now.
The voice, a blend of reedy squeaks, smooth modulated tones and downright growls is what throws me off. For the past twelve years I’ve become accustomed to a voice whose tones resided in a certain portion of the scale. Now, those same tones are emitted anywhere from the highest high C to the lowest low C. He’s changing- no longer baby faced, no longer a child. He humors me when I call him ‘Baby’, and I know he’s thankful I don’t do that in public. He’s in the process of acquiring a mouthful of hardware that resembles the grill of a classic Buick.
He’s worried it will affect his ‘lip’ for playing the trombone. Time will tell if this proves out. We talk about DNA strands and the evidence that dinosaurs were brightly colored- no more extolling the virtues of the latest Mario Brothers game, or light saber wielding movie character.
He tells me he really likes college math and hopes he will get to do more of it when he’s in eighth grade next year. He’s like quicksilver- one minute silly and giddy and caught up in telling jokes. The next he is somber and thoughtful.
He’s been very , very ill recently and he tells me that being in ER was very educational and he’d like to go back- but only if he wasn’t sick. He liked seeing people come in and get treated.
I tell him that I see him changing; growing up and evolving. He smiles, nods and only does a small eye roll- letting me off easy.
He’s supposed to march in a parade of lights this Saturday- ‘IF it’s not raining really hard, and if it’s above 30 degrees.” I tell him I hope that it will be dry and somewhat warm.
Tomorrow I will watch him get in, mumble something and we will set off into the dark. I’ll try not to ask him to repeat what he’s said too many times, and I’ll try not to laugh a bit at his non compliant vocal cords.
Change is normal, natural, and inevitable. I hope the good qualities he has will remain through this change, and I hope that he will come out the other side relatively unscathed. And I hope that soon the alien voice will no longer emanate from my back seat!
They grow up too fast, don't they? I'm just thrilled that all mine are still willing to hug me!
Nice story, Sherri!
Cali
Humorous and touching.Well done SherriAnne
Just received the news that I am finally going to be a "great grandmother" at age 72 - first granddaughter - five months pregnant -
was surprised at how happy I was at the news - I was fortunate to have been so close to this granddaughter - joydrew
congratulations Joydrew!! I bet that is such a thrill. I wonder if I'll ever get to be a great-grandmother My oldest is 23 and still no signs of wedding bells. But I keep hoping before I get to 80!! LOL
Sherri. What a lovely way to tell the changes in that sweet little boy in the picture. I enjoyed the story very much. Thank you. It's so nice to follow their growth path and observe the changes they have but some things do stay the same and how fortunate we are for that.
Time is such a thief, nothing stays the same, change is thrust upon us willing or unwilling, we try to hold on to the familiar, the comfortable, but it is not to be. We try to do this gracefully while stumbling through an unfamiliar pathway. Too soon we will become the children and they the caregivers
