It’s been a while since I’ve posted. I’ve been busy. And I’ve been thinking so much about so many different things that I haven’t really been able (or, more aptly, willing) to sit down and pick one thought and write.
As I mentioned, I’ve been busy. And while in the car between one busy and the next, I listen to the news. So I go from busy to stressed-about-the-state-of-the-world to busy to stressed-about-the-state-of-the-world to busy…….
And tonight, just for an hour or so, I have some down time. So I was going to relax. The boys are at a jazz rehearsal, my husband is running a couple errands on his way home from work, and all I want to do is watch a couple of sit-com reruns and relax in front of bad acting and a laugh track.
But I can’t figure out how to turn on the f@$king TV. We have about 5 remotes, each with about a thousand buttons, and no combination is just turning on the tube. I don’t want the Blu Ray player. I don’t need it to go through our 30-some-year-old-speaker-system-set-up-by-my-engineer-husband-to-be-surround-sound. I don’t want the PlayStation to turn on. I just want to watch some f@%king TV. And I can’t. I can manage the health of patients with two dozen concurrent medical issues but I can’t figure out how to turn on the damn television.
So I’m writing.
Just one week ago tonight, we took away the cellphones of our two youngest sons for three days. They really pissed us off, so we imposed consequences. They blatantly defied what we had told them to do.
Our kids pretty much never defy us. They’re ridiculously reasonable people with common sense and good heads on their shoulders. So we expected that when we specifically said “come straight home after rehearsal,” that they would do so.
But they didn’t.
Their rehearsal for this particular jazz ensemble occurs about twice a month and is about an hour away. In Ann Arbor. About a mile from our oldest son’s dorm.
And that’s why our younger two defied us. They went to see and hang out and study/do homework for 45 minutes in the student union with our oldest.
They had done so after their few previous other rehearsals out there. And when they had left the house last week as I was telling them to come straight home, they laughed and said “sure, by way of the Union,” and I laughed and said “no, by way of straight home.”
It was a school night. It was late. It was reasonable to ask them to head directly back. They didn’t listen. And my husband and I were angry that they hadn’t done what we told them to do. When we called our youngest’s cellphone to check on their whereabouts around the time we thought they’d be getting home, he told us they were sitting and doing homework with our oldest. We told them to head to the car and drive carefully home.
And when they walked in the door, we told them to hand over their cellphones.
And they didn’t utter a word of protest.
My husband and I expressed our displeasure with their choice. We lectured about all the reasons they should not have done what they did.
They didn’t argue.
The next day, our middle son came home from school during lunchtime. I said, “We need to talk.” And he said, “Yep.” And we sat down.
I started. “You know, we let you do an awful lot. We don’t put a lot of restrictions on you. That’s because we trust you. You’ve earned that trust. You’re a good person. You make good decisions. And last night you were not where we expected you to be. It was late, and you had woken up early in the morning and had been up late the night before.”
“I know, Mom,” he replied. “But here’s the thing. We were completely safe the entire time. We went straight from rehearsal to be with an adult member of our family. And we sat and did homework with him. I wasn’t tired – you know that on every car trip we’ve ever taken, when I’ve been tired I haven’t driven – I’ve stopped and asked someone else to take over. I would never drive tired. I know it’s as dangerous as driving drunk, which I also would never do. I knew that I felt awake. I would not have put myself or my little brother in danger by driving tired.”
“That may all very well be true,” I said, “but you defied me. And I thought you were almost home when you were actually 50 miles away.”
“I know, “ he responded, “and I’m sorry about that. And you were perfectly justified in taking my phone. It was worth losing my phone. I was a mile from my brother, and I wasn’t not going to see him.”
There was something in his voice as he said this last sentence. And there was something in his eyes, and in his jaw. I looked at him. “You really miss him,” I said softly. “Yes. Of course I do,” he said.
And there it was. That was the drive – not to rebel against authority, not to eat fast food in the Union’s food court, but to be with an older brother who used to be there every day but now isn’t, who even though we see him regularly doesn’t really live with us anymore.
“I get it,” I told my middle son.
I had a very similar conversation with our youngest when he came home from school.
The motivation was clear. The depth of the urge was significant. The risk was calculated. Their decision was really not surprising when you think about it for even a second.
We still held onto their phones for a couple days. We had a point to make. But tonight we didn’t tell the boys to come straight home. They have their backpacks with them. They will hang out with their brother. They will be their triplet whole and they will laugh with one another as they do homework and insult one another as they hug goodbye.
And somewhat strangely, I’m happy we’ve raised sons who don’t listen to us every single time. They’ve listened to and absorbed the value of family, they love one another, and they’re willing to give up their electronic social lifelines for a face-to-face connection with their brother.
And I’m happy I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the television. It feels good to write.