Tag Archives: growing up

so 2010…

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“You know, dad, yesterday, I was like in rehearsals for the play, Yeah and Mr. François did like a wrong note and the piano and i just like said, ‘FAIL’.

“Oops!”

“No, no it was okay dad. Mr. François was okay, he laughed and then you know what he said? He said, uhm, he said, ‘Noah, that’s so 2010. Great one, uhn dad? Yeah, he really cracked me up.”

“That’s so 2010…that is a good one.”

“So 2010, hahahahahaha…”

His belly button bobs and weaves with his mirth. He has a very outsy outsy one. It popped out when he was a few weeks old, courtesy of a hernia. Nothing to worry about, but he’s had a half inch handle ever since. His Mother insisted it was my fault because I let him cry too hard.

Never once bothered him like it probably would have bothered me at his age. In fact, I worried that he would become self-conscious. Never happened. And now, as he grows and his abdomen muscles get stronger, the thing is beginning to recede back into his body.

I stare at it as it expresses Noah’s mirth. Maybe it’ll pop back in. And I can send a picture to his Mother ‘Yes, it popped out in tears and popped back in through laughter.’

But that’s so vindictive …so 2003.

“Dad, look, now like I can reach the uhm, milk in the fridge, look without being on my tippy-toes.”

Tippy-toes, that’s so six year old. Damn, how that would insult him. I hold back, to my credit. I used to go for the punchline no matter what. Lost some friends that way. Though it bedded me a few beauties. Women like nasty smart. But I’ve grown up.

Caustic is so ‘before Noah’.

Noah is filled with good intentions this morning. Wants to help because my back is blocked. Last night I saw an osteopath who jumped on my back like a sumo wrestler on fermented rice in an attempt to unblock my back ribs.

This morning I’m paying the price, in the hope that the pain will disappear during the day.

“Dad, I can pour your coffee for you.”

“Thanks so much for helping me out, kid. But I’m afraid you’ll get burned. Look.”

My moka pot is whistling in a plume of burning steam.

“Ouh, yeah that’s hot alright. You know dad that, uhm, the smoke…”

“…the steam.”

“Yeah, yeah, the steam, like it’s hotter than boiling hot water because it’s you know a gas, like.”

I can see the milk carton slipping from his hands.

“Noah, pour out your milk before there’s an accident.”

“Oh yeah sure, dad.”

The kitchen table with a glass on top is just high enough to force him to raise the carton uncomfortably high. It’s a two liter container, so it’s pretty heavy. He totters, grunts with the effort. I’m about to step in to help him.

But that’s so yesterday.

He finally pours the milk, in fits and starts, but remarkably into the glass.

“Good man…. not one drop wasted.”

“I’m big now, so yeah.”

He turns on himself, and attempts to hold the carton with one arm while opening the fridge with the other. Thinks better of it. He puts  the carton down on the table, opens the door, grabs the milk, spins around and pushes the thing onto a crowded shelf before slamming the door shut. The stuff inside rattles violently.

He turns and smiles at me a little sheepishly. I smile back a little wolfishly.

“Unh-huhn. Close but no disaster.”

“It’s 2012, dad. Yup, yup…”.

He jumps in the air and lands in a dance step that has taken the world by storm, like riding a horse.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah, Gangnam Style…Uh huh, uh huh, Gangnam Style.”

I hop and skip and join him…Gangnam Style.

“Dad, dad, your back.”

Damn, it’s sore but remarkably loose.

“Back pain, that’s so yesterday!”

“Good one, dad…oh yeah oh yeah.”

We ride across the apartment like wild Korean horses.

Gangnam Style! So now!!

 

 

Syke !!

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“Yo bro’, longtime no see.”

That was my Saturday morning greeting from my 9 year old. My bladder was full and my head empty, so I said nothing,

Minutes later, I was ensconced in the futon with a bowl of caffe latte.

“So, Noah, was camping awesome?”

He was gone three days and two nights. A camping trip with his day camp. Twenty two kids gone primitive with tents, marshmallows, kayaks and peeing against trees.

“No dad, not awesome.”

I turn, concerned. “Really? How come?”

“Because it was Super Awesome. Ha! Syke!” And he pokes me nastily in the ribs.

“You know what Syke means, right?”

“Who’s Syke?” I’m barely a quarter of the way through my coffee so playing dumb comes easy.

“You don’t know what syke means? So lame.”

I was going to tell him I missed him while he was away. But I’m less certain right now.

Syke is like, you know, when you syke someone. Like I just did to you.”

Ah! the clarity of youth.

“Is it the fooling or the mocking which is the syke?”

“Both. First, like you have to fool someone and then you make fun of them. Get it?”

“Got it.”

“Dad. you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m glad I’m a guy and not a girl. Yeah, because, you know when I woke up like at 2 in the morning and like I had to pee, yeah I just like, left the tent and I found a tree and peed. Girls, like, they can’t do that.”

“The hard part is not peeing on your feet.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Especially if you make the mistake of hitting the tree trunk from close up, it splashes all over you.”

“That”s exactly what almost happened to me. But I jumped just in time. Like this, look.”

He leaps off the futon. Then he mimes holding his hose and jumping back out of harm’s way.

“You see?”

“Yeah, I see that you probably peed all over yourself rather than just on your feet.”

“No way dad. I’m not like you, that I pee all crooked-like.”

I’m trying to remember why exactly I missed him.

“Oh, and dad? Ouaga puked this really gross slimy hairball.”

“Did you clean it up?”

“No way, it’s way too gross.”

I get up and head out to the kitchen.

“Watch out dad, you’re stepping on her puke!”

“Where?” I jump away.

“Syke.” And he vaults, finger extended, to poke me.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Gotcha!” He does his signature ‘in your face’ victory dance.

What an annoying little beast. Missing him was probably just an addict’s withdrawal pains.

I act the adult. Yes, yes, it happens. I spot the hairball sitting on the floor in a pool of cat bile. I concentrate on picking it up with a paper towel and disinfecting with a spray cleaner.

Gross.

By the time I return to the living room, Noah has disappeared somewhere. He was probably afraid I would draft him to help me clean.

I lower myself back onto the futon and reach for my now cold caffe latte.

“Dad, dad, dad…”.

Noah thunders into the living room. He jumps onto the futon with both feet and dives full speed into me. I raise my bowl of coffee just in time to save it from his assault. But my ribs take the brunt of the charge,

“Ouuuuffff…Noa….”.

“Look look. I took pictures of my crew. During the campfire.”

He’s wielding the camera I lent him, so excited he’s oblivious to everything else. He pushes his boniness into me like the cat pawing a pillow into a suitable shape. With the same relish and the same disregard for anybody else.

He’s pushed so far in, that he’s like an extra rib.

“Look dad, this is Annabelle, yeah she’s my new friend. She’s really nice and like she doesn’t treat me like a kid, even if I’m, uh, nine and a half and she’s like twelve.”

He leans his sticky little head on my shoulder and clicks forward on the camera.

“Look dad, this is my tent. Sweet huhn?”

“Sweet.”

Yeah, real sweet. Now I remember why I missed him.

“Dad, you smell bad.”

Yes, yes, I admit it it. . Sweet sour bitter spicy toxic and tonic. He’s all things balled into one. And I’m addicted.

 

 

 

 

blink

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My day begins with one eye closed.

A massive drilling operation started in the middle of the night, behind my left eye. Like fracking, it created earthquakes and cracked bone in and around the eyeball. So painful that a handful of painkillers did nothing but dull my resistance, leaving the pain intact. I rolled around in a vain attempt to find solace and sleep.

By the time i got up, it was 6 am. A full hour before the usual wake up when Noah is with me. I had set the alarm a full hour later than the usual. I was hoping to enjoy the freedom of being without child for once, Noah is on a three day camping trip with his camp. In the last several years, it has happened maybe twice to get two nights and two mornings without my boy.

So the cyclops in the mirror blinks, a little bemused. Hey, when you have one eye, blinking is more exciting. For a moment you really go blind. I blink quickly several times and the flickering feels like watching an old movie.

A silent movie because the apartment is totally quiet.  No ‘Dad I have a question‘ or ‘Awesome, awesome‘, no chasing of the cat, no singing, no dancing, no fart jokes, no controversy.

No hugging, no snuggling, no “I love you dad”.

I wonder how he’s doing. I squint out the window. It’s gray and weird. They’re two hours from the city, so maybe they’ve got nice weather. I hope so. I really want him to have fun.

I have this urge to throw my cold caffe latte into my closed eye. A caffeine wash may be just the thing to bring it back to utility. As if to make sure I don’t, the pneumatic drill fracks my skull with new vengeance. My cervical vertebrae are now feeling the pain.

The cat jumps right into my lap. She never does that because I generally slap her away. I’m colonized enough. But this time I let her be. She stares at me. Where’s the boy?

“He’s gone camping. Back tomorrow.”

She spends most nights curled up with him in his bed. I wonder whether Noah got freaked last night, sleeping for the first time in a tent, in the woods . I’m looking forward to hearing all about it tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

But, I’ve got to get myself going, today. I get up. The cat leaps to the ground and saunters to Noah’s room. She jumps on his bed and turns in circles, looking for the perfect spot.

With only one eye, I misjudge the doorway to my room and bounce off the frame. Shit, now my shoulder hurts.

I dress, slip the computer in my bag, search for my keys. It takes forever. I search for my notebook and pen. Takes forever again. Then my shoes. Where are my shoes?

The phone rings. Way too early for a business call. It’s a number I don’t recognize, with an area code from where Noah is camping. I taste my left aorta as my heart leaps into my mouth.

“Hello?”

“This Frank? Oh it’s not Frank.”

Click. Dial tone. The line goes dead. I get this urge to call right back and hang up when he answers.

Instead I reason myself back to searching for my shoes. Amazing how I can instantly find anything when Noah is looking for it.

But not my shoes.

I measure once more the enormous space my son takes in my life. And I know that he will be adult and gone in a blink, leaving a hole.

I finally find my shoes under his bed, right beside his worn sandals.

Blink Blink.

 

scream…

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Went to bed at 11pm, exhausted, convinced I would sink instantaneously into comfortable sleep.

The day had been quiet and enjoyable. Noah and I spent the afternoon at my sisters. We watched the Euro Soccer final while Noah literally sat on his cousins and played Nintendo, talked up a storm and ate only snack food.

Perfect

Noah wondered if he could sleep over at their house. My sister was obliged to disappoint him.

“You know Noah, Vince gets up at noon (that’s the 15 yr old), and Melina’s gone to her summer job before 8 (that’s the 18 yr old). Later, in summer, we’ll work it so that you can sleep over a couple of days when they’ll be around. Maybe combine it with a trip to La Ronde.”

“Okay.”

Sometimes he’s so reasonable it pains me.

On the way back home, Melina gave us a lift proud of her new learner’s permit. As we rode over the bridge we had a full panoramic view of La Ronde, the big amusement park which is Noah’s Valhalla.

“Look, tonton (uncle) George…that’s the Sky Screamer. I really really want to go on that one.”

A tower as high as the bridge, whipping screaming fools in swing chairs round and round. It looked obvious to me that one of those chairs would eventually go flying off.

“That’s really cool,” says the Uncle.

“Make me puke,” say I.

“Dad, you gotta do it with me.”

“No way. I’m freaked by heights, so…and I don’t trust Amusement park technology.”

“Dad, do you know how many people have like, died, since like La Ronde is open?”

I play along.

“How many?”

“None, dad, not one. It’s like safer than even crossing the street.”

“I’ll go with you, Noah.” says his cousin.

“Looks really exciting,’ says the Uncle.

Yes, I’m a physical coward. But a moral warrior.

By the time we got home, it was bedtime. Noah brushed his teeth, fed his fish and was ready for bed without the shadow of a protest.

So reasonable.

I was overwhelmed by the urge to hug him.

“Dad, it’s too hot.” He wiggles his way out of my grasp. He’s all arms and legs now, so he has an effective bony defense.

“Dad, I would really want to, you know, sleep over at tantine’s (auntie’s) for like, I don’t know, a few days, this summer.”

“I’ll try to work it out for you, Noah.”

“Because, you know, I really love my cousins. Yeah, especially Vince. Now, I don’t know why, but he’s like the best cousin I have, you know.”

“He’s a boy and closer to your age than Melina. I guess that helps.”

“Yeah, and he really is nice with me. It’s like we can share, you know.”

“I know. Family Ties.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not like afraid to go you know on the Sky Screamer because I can go like with Vince and Melina and be like tied to them in the chair. Imagine like tied with a rope in the chair, you know so we don’t go flying. That’s funny.”

“Tonton Georges is going to want to go also.”

“I think you can be four, dad, if you squeeze, so yeah, he can come too and get all tied up. Haha.” Then he snorts because it’s just too funny.

“Lots to look forward to.”

“Yeah. I’m excited to do it with them.”

“Okay, buona notte, sogni d’oro, a domani.”

Kiss, smack, pat on the butt and I leave his room. He’s asleep in two minutes.

Later, at 11pm, despite my physical fatigue, I lie in bed awake. The more I try, the less I fall asleep.

Noah’s cousins are hardly children anymore. My sister was telling me how hard it has become to keep them involved in family affairs. Their four person unit is dissolving. Before it coalesces into a new formation, she feels a little lost, a little sad.

For a few seconds I feel terribly alone as I imagine my life without Noah. He’s only nine, but every parent I respect has told me to enjoy these years because then they grow up and leave in all sorts of ways.

I tell myself to remember that, next time I’m too tired or lazy or indifferent to join him in a game or activity.

I turn over on my stomach and curl up in a comforting position.

One thing is for sure, though. No way I’m doing the Sky Screamer.

Go for it…

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…but come back

“Dad, you’re not going to be too lonely if I like roll ahead?”

“Go for it.”

“Love you daaaaaaaaddddddd.” The last word trails off as he pumps the pedals and zips away down the bike path.

Monday was a holiday in Canada. Remarkably, the three day weekend was solid sunlight and warm weather the whole time.

And Noah got a new bike Saturday. His first brand new bicycle, ever. Prior to this one he had profited from a series of ‘hand me downs’, perfectly adequate but hardly objects of devotion.

But this. An electric blue, 5 speed Mongoose bike, complete with all the bling bling reflectors, chrome detailing and racy decals.

“Dad, like, look at how awesome this thing is. It’s the logo and it’s made of metal. So cool.”

Oh yeah, a round tin badge just underneath the handlebars.

“Look dad, it’s a mongoose. You know mongooses, yeah they fight snakes. Look dad, it’s got crazy claws and teeth. Touch, touch, you can feel the details.”

“Yeah, it’s stamped onto the metal.”

“This bike is so awesome.”

And he zips off. New matching helmet too. Black with blue flames.

“All I need now, you know dad, is those gloves, you know without the fingers so that, yeah, I can ride a long time because, you know you’re always like this.”

He imitates a toothy mongoose gripping a handlebar with a vengeance.

“And it hurts your hands after a while.”

My son the centaur. The top half is still human but the bottom is now an iron horse. Welded together.

Three days of riding and pedaling everywhere we went. If he could have, he would have brought it into bed with him.

He dressed in blue shorts and t-shirt all weekend.

“I look good, huh dad? I match.” He turns this way and that in the mirror, admiring the effect.

“I don’t know why dad, but I feel like i grew up all of a sudden.

So he zips down the bike path that runs just in front of our apartment. I spend much of the summer on our third floor balcony watching the flow of humanity. But now I’m half jogging after my centaur. I don’t yet have a bike. His was the priority.

Noah waits patiently at the corner of the street. I’m still paces away when the light changes. He looks back, I wave him on. He gives me a thumbs up before pumping his pedals and disappearing into the mass of weekend bikers.

I huff and I puff and eventually see him again waiting at the next corner. The light changes, setting off the same routine and he zips across the street into the park.

Geez, I need a bike.

Though I could also consider this training for the future. More quickly than I care to know, he will be rolling away as he grows older and more independent. Eventually, he will will fall in love with a metier, a woman, a place and he will leave with a wave.

My little big man will become a man.

This time he’s waiting for me in the park, straddling his bike. Damn, he does look good.

As I approach, he smiles. A poster for pleasure. A model of joy unencumbered by any form of regret.

“Dad, you really gotta get a bike, so that we can uh, go fast and uh go far, like, together, you know.”

“Absolutely.”

Cool. I still have a few years.

“Dad, there’s just one thing.”

He looks around, checking if anyone is watching him.

“Right here…”

He gingerly, tenderly grabs his crotch and the fleshy bits around.

“….it’s really really sore.”

“Saddle bites…it’ll get better and then disappear.”

“Okay. Dad, dad, can I cross the park.”

“Sure, go for it. But come back often to say hello. Okay.”

“Okay, daaaaaaadddddd.”

His last word trails away as he disappears in the crowd.

 

 

 

 

 

what a difference a….

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…a snowflake makes

Snowflakes so big I actually feel their weight as they land on my face.

“Dad, look, when I open my mouth and like I catch one, it fills my whole mouth.”

He holds his head high and his mouth wide open. He’s achingly beautiful as a portrait of righteous desire. A snowflake drops into his mouth. For the fraction of a second before it melts it looks like whipped cream.

Noah chortles with that lusty laugh that makes me want to conquer the world with him.

“Amazing, dad, like last week I was fighting with you because I wanted to wear sandals and now, it’s gloves and, and boots and all that stuff. Crazy, huhn?”

“Spring.”

He has not lived enough cycles to know that the renewal of nature is never a straight line. Warmth and burgeoning is sometimes followed by a sudden freeze that threatens everything.

But, inexorably, nature grows, takes possession. Over time.

“Dad, I promise that today at school I will do just like what I did yesterday.”

As we walk to the bus stop, the snow changes suddenly to sleet.

“Ouch, that hit me in the face, dad, it was like a chunk of ice. Did you see that?”

“So, Noah, what are you going to do?”

“Yeah…”

He pulls his fingers out of the gloves, for more precision, and counts off.

“One, I listen and concentrate on school work not all that other stuff like jokes and Lego and Pokemon.”

He lowers the index and lifts the middle finger…and doesn’t even notice. He’s focused.

“Two, at the eh, at the end of the day like I write down every thing that I have to do for homework and …three I do the homework and, and, what was four? Sorry dad, I don’t remember.”

“Four, I go through your homework with you.”

“Yeah, just like we did yesterday.”

“It was easy, wasn’t it?”

He chortles.

“Yeah, a lot easier than not doing it and then being afraid you, like finding out and getting mad. That’s why, you know dad? I forgot my homework like for two days in a row and then when I remembered, I was like ‘oh, no, he’s he’s going to kill me’, not for real like killing to be dead forever, but yeah, so I hid the stuff from you.”

“And I found out, like I always will find out when you’re lying.”

“I know! It’s freaky, you always know.”

I wonder how long he’ll believe in my omniscience.

“So….?”

“So dad, it’s much easier and a happier thing to just admit when I forgot, like and just do it then, with you.”

“How smart are you?”I pounce and tickle.

Again he chortles. Three wonderful laughs before the day even begins.

Good stuff.

The sleet has stopped. For a brief moment the heavy cloud cover breaks and a cold white light washes the street..the kind of light possible only in northern hemispheres.

“Dad, do you think, tonight like after my homework I could like get permission to you know…”

He looks at me. I frown at him.

“Sorry dad, sorry… you told me that like I have to do well with the homework all week and maybe then I can get my privileges back. Sorry.”

He raises a hand and nods, looking like a knowledgeable old man.

The clouds have thickened, reasserted their domain. The light has gone out. The snow has begun falling again.

Thick and fast.

Noah runs ahead to meet his buddy at the bus stop. One of these days he’ll be running out of my arm reach, into the embrace of another.

One that will love him.

I look forward to seeing him grown up in love.

But not too fast.

 

 

 

 

one word…

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…is enough

He walks to the bus stop with a new frown. I once again had to hustle him out of the house. Exhausting to tell a nine year the same things over and over, every morning.

“Today is going to be a ‘P’ day, dad.”

Everyday at school he gets a Progress report with either P’s for doing things well Part of the time or M’s for Most of the time. Obviously, we’re aiming for Mmmmmm’s.

“Why?”

“Because, like I forgot my new book and now I won’t have anything to read. That sucks.”

“You’re deciding you’re going to have a bad day. Don’t do that.”

‘Yeah, but I know today is going to suck.”

That pumps me. I try so hard to stay positive. Instead I lose it.

“Well, tell you what, kid. You get ‘P’s’ and you lose computer time.”

“Whaaaaaaaa…!?!”

His eyes fill up instantly.

Shit. I blew it.

Stop the criticism, stop the punishment, stop the bloody repression, I tell myself.

I want to tell him what I really think.

I want to tell him I’m proud of him.

I want to tell him that I love to watch him sing and dance.

I want to tell him that I admire his talent for drawing.

I want to tell him that I find him cute.

That I think he’s smart and funny and charismatic.

That I love how he is courteous and considerate.

I want to tell him that I believe in him

That no matter what the future holds I will be there with him

I want to tell him all the beauty he has gifted me with

I want to tell him that thanks to his birth the preamble that was my life has finally become the main attraction.

I want to tell him all this emotion that fills my whole being to bursting

I want to tell him beautiful it is to see him grow

I want to tell him how I could watch him smile and laugh forever without ever needing more

I want to beg forgiveness for insisting on what he does not do

I want to ask for his help in seeing more clearly

I want to tell him not to be afraid

I want to tell him I love him, like I have never loved before

“Forget that! No punishment, Noah. No lost computer time. Instead, for every M you get, you’ll get more computer time.”

I crouch down to be eye to eye.

“Ok? Every M gives you more minutes on the computer.”

He smiles a crooked rabbit smile. His eyes now sparkle through the brimful of tears. It’s that easy.

He hugs me.

I love you Noah.

 

mama, papa…

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…teen

“Dad, even I could eat that !”

“I can’t even finish it.”

“But like it’s only a Mama Burger, dad, it’s not even the Papa Burger. I’m only like not even 9 and I’m having the Teen Burger. I mean you know, look at this thing. It’s huge.”

In fact the Teen burger is the biggest of the three. The Mama version is the skimpiest.

“Dad, it’s like this, sometimes I have so many appetites that I could eat a whole Family of Burgers.”

My “appetites” are waning. I eat less, drink nothing and actually find myself not questing for anything, for days on end.

Novel.

Except for sex, which has gotten better with time. And my enjoyment of it even more so. It is now pleasure without ego or necessity.

“Dad, how come teenagers eat more and like they’re not adults and can’t even do adult things? It’s weird.”

“Kids and teenagers are growing, that’s why you sometimes eat like a hog and sometimes like a canary. You’re growing in spurts. But it takes a longer time for the brain to be wired to be adult.”

And it doesn’t ever happen for a whole lot of people I know. Adults in appearance only.

“But dad, when I’m like you know 18 or 19, will I be an adult?”

“Legally, yup.”

“But doesn’t that mean that I have to like move away from you?”

“Nope. We can live together for as long as we want to.”

For better or for worse, till death do us part.

“Even if I like have a girlfriend and we you know, sleep together?”

“And what if I have a girlfriend?”

Noah chews on his Teen Burger, noisily.

“Sweet, we could like all four live together.”

“All six.”

He goes wide-eyed.

“Six? How many girlfriends do you want, dad?.

“No. Four humans, a cat and a fish.”

“Oooohhhh!”

He stares down a pickle in his burger. Plucks it out and flings on the wrapper with an air of disdain.

“Seven then, dad. Yeah, because it’s like this. When I’m old enough to take care of him and pay for his food and everything else, I want a dog, a big dog, like you know a Husky.”

“Sure if I never once need to pick up its turds.”

“Promise?”

“If you promise.”

“I do.”

“I do.”

He does a happy shoulder dance.

Who ever said I didn’t believe in love ever-after.