At Christmas, Charlie came home from university a vegetarian. Being a mother, I took it personally. He reassured, “Strictly ethical reasons, Mom. Nothing to do with your cooking.”
I wasn’t convinced. On more than one occasion I’d been accused of criminal assault on a rump roast. Now, looking at the condition of the Christmas turkey, I knew he was right. Ultimately this creature had not been treated well. It was missing a head, one wing and was indeed, dead. “You look thin, have you lost weight?”
“Yeah, 8 pounds.”
“Damn ethics,” I muttered. “You need protein. And what kind of a university course talks about meat, anyway?”
His father glanced up from his paper. “I believe they call them bird courses, dear.”
On Reading week, Charlie came home from university with 12 loads of laundry, said he was becoming a Buddhist and mentioned that he’d applied to do tsunami relief in Sri Lanka.
“First of all,” I asked, “what have you been doing for clean underwear? Secondly, do you have to shave your head and wear orange? Because I really don’t think you could pull that look off. And thirdly, you simply cannot go to there.”
“Why?”
“Well—because you’re grounded, that’s why.”
He patted the top of my head in that way six-foot-two children do. “Oh, Mom, you’re so funny.”
Sensing my angst, his father paused from his reading. “Don’t worry, dear. They’re only taking donations, not volunteers.”
At Easter, Charlie came home from university with a packing list and recommended inoculations for Sri Lanka. He informed, “It’s monsoon season so, in addition to all the standard needles, I have to get encephalitis, cholera, meningitis, typhus and rabies. And I need anti-malarials, 90% deet and a bug net.”
After regaining consciousness I made an appointment with the vet and then dusted off our biggest suitcase. I wondered how everything would fit.
“No, Mom, I’m just taking my backpack.”
I surveyed the list, and the few additions I’d made. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”
“Yeah, it will fit everything I need to take.”
His dad looked up from his book and gave a little shake of his head. “Yes, but it won’t fit everything your mother needs you to take. Don’t fight it son.”
I kissed his father’s bright shiny head. “So it’s settled then. Tomorrow after your exam, dentist appointment and second round of inoculations we’ll go and get a big backpack.”
Later at A Walk in the Pack Emporium we surveyed the wall of backpacks: too big, too small, too hard, too soft. I pulled one down. The tag said The Super Mega Elite World Traveler 3000.
“A beauty isn’t she.” I blushed at the compliment then realized the salesman was looking affectionately at the backpack. The boys bonded in a discussion about the art of backpacking. I was lost in the Woods and JanSports, but they understood each other perfectly. What I did gather, though, was as far as beauties go this one was a super model. It had compartments so secret that even the salesman, who had taken a 2 day training course on the features of the Mega 3000, could not remember where they all were. This baby had everything: zip off day pack, strap protectors, postural support, 80 litres of luxury accommodation, a front door, back door, screen door, rain cover for the packer as well as one for the pack (which by the way, is a feature embraced by every mother concerned about dry socks).
One look at my son’s face and I blurted out, “We’ll take it.”
He looked at the price tag. “Mom, no, we can’t. It’s too expensive.”
Too late. I had envisioned all this backpack could hold and I had to have it.
It was an engineering marvel. What once covered the entire dining room table and living room floor now resided in something that would fit on Charlie’s back. He tried it on. “How does it feel?”
“Well, Mom, you know I love the stars, which is good, because that’s all I’ll be seeing.” His lean frame arched gracefully into a lower case ‘r’.
“Why are you examining the ceiling?”
His dad glanced up from his book. “Looks a little top heavy. Did you load it heaviest to lightest?”
“No,” I snapped, “It’s packed it in priority sequence. Lifesaving things on top: insect repellent, bottled water, first aid kit, medications, survival guide…”
“It’s okay, Mom, Dad and I will do it.”
I sensed danger. The extra bug net, the water, the case of industrial strength deet might somehow slip under the couch. His father too sensed danger, that of trying to pry a bone from a Rotwieller. “Better let your mother do it son.” Yes, he is a wise man.
We always hope our children will soar, but perhaps not too soon and not so far. Tomorrow he would fly. I grabbed my keys. “Mom, are you going out?”
“Yes, I need a few things from Walmart: Kleenex, Tylenol, Prozac, chocolate… do you need anything?”
“Yeah, a wedding ring. Emma and I have to pretend we’re married for the summer, so she doesn’t get stoned or something.”
Okeedokee then, better add Miss Clairol # 735 and a trip to the liquor store to my list.
They were married beneath the neon glow of Duty Free. A lovely ceremony, accompanied by the music of, All passengers for flight 123 report to gate XYZ. The bride wore blue jeans, the groom pajama pants. The wedding dinner was pizza, an elegant sit-down affair at Wolfgang Puck’s Gourmet Airport Eatery. Soon, the happy couple would be off on their honeymoon to the tsunami devastated regions of the world, but first the bride had to reduce her luggage by 11 pounds.
Exasperated sighs filled the growing line behind. The scale inched down as she removed item after item. I suggested, “Take out the peanut butter. There are two jars in Charlie’s pack.”
Still 3 pounds over. Emma reached in and pulled out a bag, “I’ll carry this on.” The scale dipped 3.1 pounds.
Her father whispered to her mother, “What’s in the bag?”
Her mother responded, “Her underwear.”
Three plus pounds of underwear. I knew I liked this girl. What a sensible young woman. My husband glanced up from the pile of discarded books he was perusing. “No need to worry about him dear. He’s in good hands.”
His adventures were many. They are his stories to tell. He arrived home wearing a skirt. “A sarong,” he corrected. Not many men can pull off orange and green tie-dye, but I have to admit on him it looked good. Physically he was 20 pounds lighter, but his soulful gain of compassion and spirit filled out the hollows beautifully.
Winner of the WCDR Short Fiction Contest, 2006
My laughter filled the room and I wanted to read more! So hard to be a parent.
This brings back memories!
I still have gray hairs that can’t be hidden over this adventure.
I love this! I, too, have this type of wrinkle-inducing offspring. And the tone is just perfect.
Thanks, Mary. My children provide more story fodder than any writer deserves.
I also laughed out loud a number of times, especially at the wedding scene. Very well written with lots of love for your son shining through. Parenting never stops, a fact I have grown to understand over the years. My three are 35 and up and I still have sleepless nights worrying about them or my little grandsons and joyfully travel thousands of miles just to see them.
By the way I found your FB page through your husband’s photos of Cuba and your lovely sea photo there.
Thanks, Carolyn. I have filled many journal pages with worries, quotes on why and how not to worry, doodles to lessen my worry, yet still I worry. I can even worry that I’m not worried or worrying enough. Laughter, walking and writing are three of my best remedies for the plague of it.
One of my fave stories. Still can laugh over the wedding tale & the “skirt”