The Times They Are A-Changing

Those of you with grown children will know all about this from your memory. Those of you with teenagers are living it now. Those of you with younger children may have an inkling. And those of you without children haven't got a clue.

Son is a teenager. That says a lot. And yet it doesn't really say anything. Teenagers are as different from each other as one tree from another. No two oaks are the same. No two ash. No two beach. No two any trees are the same. And yet all oak trees share common traits. Same with teenagers.

Today we were out. Shopping. A rare occurrence as we seldom have money. But our federal taxes arrived on Friday and we had money in our pockets. Enough to actually eat at an Old Country Buffet restaurant. For those of you who do not know, OCB is an all you can eat establishment. It's a favorite with the very old and the very young. And the poor.

Son used to love going there.

Actually, there was a time when Son always wanted to go with us. It didn't matter where we were going. He wanted to come along.

That was then. This is now.

If it were possible, he would have us go without him even when his presence was required.

The days of not minding being seen with us in public are over. At least for a few years. No longer are we brilliant. We haven't a clue. Our behavior is no longer eccentric. It's embarassing.

But I'm not being fair. The truth is, whatever he feels inside, he is nothing but manners on the outside. I'm only guessing at the clueless and embarassing. He's never said a word. Never acted different.

Except he hates going with us when we leave.

It's his independence coming to the surface. Very necessary, but also lonely.

I appreciate him growing up. Hopefully, he will do better with his life than we have done with ours.

But sometimes I miss the boy.

He used to want to go places with me.

Sigh.

Making the Right Choices

I've never been keen on fishing. The only fishing I remember enjoying at all was when Stephen and I would fish for carp in the Rum River. That was fun simply because catching carp in the Rum was like snagging old boots. We would buy a mess of worms, or grubs, and head out to the river. We parked the car and slogged through the brush and muck to the river's edge.

We didn't bother with bobbers or anything. Just a lot of sinkers. Back then the sinkers were made out of lead. Now I think they're made from some non-toxic material. But carp are bottom feeders, and so we needed to get our bait to the bottom. Otherwise, the carp would never take it.

There were other fish in the river. Once we caught a bass, and a couple of times we caught perch. But those were accidental catches. Stephen knew virtually nothing about fishing. And I knew even less.

It's a shame, too, because Daddy liked to fish. He had a lot of fun fishing. This was especially true if he was up north and fishing with Alfred, his best friend in the whole world. Alfred knew a lot about nature, and not just fishing. He knew the animals and plants as though he were the one who made them. I was allowed to go hunting with them one year, and I remember Alfred stooping down and picking up some deer poop. He rubbed it through his fingers and gave us the deer's life history. Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration. But not much.

In the last years before Daddy died he finally was able to afford some real outdoor equipment. It wasn't the best, but it was good. He took me to Canada twice, just to go fishing. The first time was cool because we found native paintings on an island. They were faded and difficult to make out, but they were there. Afterward Daddy confessed the discovery had not been an accident. Alfred had told him which lake to find and which island. That explained why we had gone so far away from normal roads. Alfred generally didn't fish where everyone else did.

Unfortunately, I was then in my teen years and didn't like fishing at all. I liked being with Daddy (except at meal time - Daddy couldn't cook worth a dang, but I didn't dare tell him I was better at it than him), but I didn't like fishing. And I wasn't keen on how he kept taking the boat further and further away from our campsite, wrapping around island after island. I knew he was going to get us lost. He only did the one time, but he wasn't off by much. What was embarrassing was when he let me drive the boat back. I mucked up some place, and when I made the bend to camp I was shocked: camp wasn't there. Someone had stolen it! Actually, I was about a mile off from where I was supposed to be.

But more and more Daddy was giving me a choice of whether to go fishing or not, and more and more I chose not. I know he felt bad, but it never occurred to me that I only had two years left to be doing anything with him. He didn't play sports. Not anymore. His outdoor activities were hunting and fishing - the two activities I wasn't keen on much at all. He was proud of my achievements in baseball, I know. I caught him bragging about my grand slam home run. I had hit the ball farther than a lot of boys two or three years older than me could hope to hit it. But I squandered my chance to do something with Daddy. I was a selfish fool. And now there is nothing I can do about it.

What I do now is take advantage of the fact Son still wants to do things with me. The day is fast approaching when the ability to run off with friends and do things I can no longer do (or want to do) is going to reduce the amount of time he wants to spend with me. So when he wants to play computer, or go bicycling, or just watch a movie, most of the time I interrupt what I am doing in order to do it.

I mucked up once. Don't intend to make the same mistake twice.