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Random thoughts from a woman in love

I have failed as a parent.  I raised my son on my own from the time I was 5 months pregnant, and somewhere during that adventure, I screwed up.  Granted – he’s a great kid (can one still call a 23-year old a “kid”?)  He is an average student (lazy, forgetful about homework – you know, typical kid), hilariously funny, sloppy,  frugal just to the edge of miserly, and all of that Eagle Scout stuff – trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, yada yada yada.  Even so, I have failed as a parent.

Jeff came to visit me last night while I was watching a repeat of yesterday’s Giants vs. Oakland A’s game (it was a good game – my boys won).  My lovely child, the one who I allowed to live after he colored his closet doors with black and purple crayons, blurted out, “Geez, how can you watch that? Baseball is so boring!”

The room began to spin as the remote fell from my hand and a loud ringing in my ears drowned out all other sound.  I could feel my heart pounding furiously as I tried to register what he had just said.  Keep breathing, keep breathing, I told myself.  I thought I was having a stroke.  Words failed me. The ringing in my ears would not stop. Baseball – boring? What was he talking about? Perhaps the stroke was causing me to misunderstand the boy. And then the ringing faded enough for me to hear his next words: “I hate baseball. It’s like watching paint dry.”  OH! MY! GOD!  I directed my shocked expression towards Steve – he would understand the look in my eyes meant “Call 911.  I am having a stroke!”

Steve handed me his tequila. “Here babes, take a sip. You are looking a little pale.”  I slammed that puppy like a college student slams a kamikaze.  The room slowly stopped spinning, and the ringing in my ears subsided. Heart rate slowed to normal.  I finally felt I could speak without slurring (well…maybe a little slur thanks to the tequila).  I turned to Steve.  “Is there a 12-step program we can put him in? Can Dr. Drew help him? Is it drugs? Alcohol? How do we do an intervention?”

“Geez, Mom – calm down!   I only said that I don’t like…” I raised my hand to stop him.  Another word from him would put me in a tailspin and might kill me.  Steve poured Jeff a Guinness and told him to sit down (and shut up).  He sat in silence for the next 6 innings, ignoring the game but not daring to say another word.  I sat curled on the couch wrapped in my quilt trying to figure out where I went wrong.  My heart was no longer in the game (although I did cheer when Burris hit a single to right field to win the game in the 11th inning).  My son hated baseball.  Where did I go wrong?  I have failed him as a parent.

I need Dr. Drew’s phone number…

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