After a long three-day weekend snot fest Mike and I escaped the sick kids and went out to lunch.
Over pork belly tacos I told him, “I like hanging out with you.”
He said, “Am I still your favorite even though I always see you hanging out with that young, good-looking guy?”
I leaned in close and said, “It’s fun to do things with Basil, but to tell you the truth, he isn’t as good a companion as you.”
When Esther and Sophia were in high school, Mike was always taking them on dates. One evening we went out to Mike’s favorite restaurant BJ’s and the waiter was so confused to see him with me after seeing Mike all those evenings in the company of beautiful, young women. Basil is great when I want someone to dance with me or watch the movies that Mike doesn’t like. I love being seen with my handsome young man, and he humors me. When Basil and I saw Boys in the Boat, he smiled at me when I cheered at the end of every race.
Esther and Sophia always seemed to think I was an innocent little thing that should be protected. Last weekend Basil’s head cold kept us from going ballroom dancing, so he recommended we watch the bloodiest goriest yet silliest movie I’ve ever seen in my life. Though I humored his request, I slept through most of it, and when I woke up between naps I enjoyed watching his enjoyment of Bullet Train instead of focusing on the movie. I missed the plot devices that Basil found so clever, but I was happy that he wanted to watch it with me and thought I could handle it.
Three weeks ago, Basil missed dance class because his legs were sore after a brutal afternoon of PE in which he did four hundred calf raises. The next morning, he didn’t feel up to driving to school, so I took all four kids. When we pulled up the intersection of Corrales Road and Alameda the traffic was backed up. Ahead of us where the road added a double left turn lane, we could see that the inner left turn lane was empty, and it was the right left-turn lane that was full. The car six spots behind us jumped the median and zoomed ahead to take a spot in the empty turn lane.
Basil said, “Hey! You can’t do that!”
“The ends justify the means,” I said.
“No, it doesn’t!” Basil said, “There are several movies and a couple of wars that say otherwise. That’s the whole plot of Chrysalis. (a podcast we listened to) and Plato’s Crito.”
I looked over at him feeling proud of his mention of Plato, “Yep, You’re a classically trained child.”
“World War I, and Infinity War, Persons of Interest and Agents of Shield.”
The light turned green, and as we turned left, I smiled listening to my son who had so much to say. It makes my life easier to have Basil drive his siblings to school, but I know these hours and half hours with him are limited.
I’m more than happy to listen to Basil tell me all about his theories and thoughts on how the world should work. His siblings not so much. A few days after Basil was listing off ways that ends don’t justify means, I heard Xenia and Justin screaming and ran into the den. They were trying to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. The little children had said that Davy Jones’ locker was a separate hell, while Basil was making the “genius” point that Davy Jones was supposed to take all lost souls there and was neglecting his duty. The pirates that left were not content with their lives and found the will and the way to leave. The Kraken is not a portal to hell. Blah. Blah. Blah.”
I couldn’t understand any of it since I hadn’t seen the movies, and the little children had their hands over their ears and were screaming, “We don’t want to hear it!”
Basil kept on till he had had his say. He has always been the kind of person who wants the last word, even if his last word is nonsensical. He may be classically trained, but he also gets a lot of his theories from the internet…though he says that particular assessment came from his own mind.
He may act like a child when he’s annoying his siblings, but sometimes Basil does all the adult things like last week when he went in search of a doctor’s note. He racked up a ton of absences last fall so now if he misses even one day of school for being sick he is required to obtain a note from the doctor. It’s hoped that he will think seriously before staying home when he feels a little under the weather. When the school reminded him of the policy, he went out and tried his PCP and went from there to urgent care. No mother needed.
Then there was the purse incident two weeks ago at our dance class which switched from Tuesday to Monday that week. We went even though we had both stayed up late visiting with our friends after the Superbowl party. Kelly suggested a party, and we invited our gang of friends. Besides Kelly, we had Christa, Mother Rachael and though Dobrina couldn’t make it, her husband John came to watch the game and brought their kids. Mike and Sophia worked in the kitchen on snacks and dinner. The rest of the adults sat in the great room watching the game. The kids ran around in packs looking at their phones while watching the game or playing poker in Basil’s room with the game in the background. Our last guest left sometime after nine at night.
Fifteen minutes into our dance class on Monday, Basil turned to me and said, “I’m really tired. I want to go to the car.”
I asked him to push through learning the easy jig. When we finished and took a water break, Basil and I walked over to our pile of stuff in the corner.
“Where’s your car key?” Basil asked.
“Somewhere in my purse,” I said. Basil searched the outside pockets.
I wanted to get back to dancing and said, “Just take my purse.”
“I’m not going to walk through the building with a purse! They’ll think I stole it.”
A lady nearby and I smiled at each other.
I decided to needle him and said, “Someday you’ll have a wife, and you’ll have to carry her purse sometimes.”
“I’m not married to you!” he said, “Will you find the keys?” I searched the same pockets he had rummaged and pulled out the key. He’s such a guy sometimes.
I joined him after the class and drove us home. He was sound asleep before we left the parking lot. Poor thing.
The following week we were all sick with a head cold and missed church on Sunday. When Tuesday came around again, I was feeling much better, but dancing was the last thing I wanted to do. Even with watching the videos online, the steps were hard to memorize. I still wasn’t great at getting both my feet off the ground, and after a week of not being able to breathe properly, I wasn’t up to anything aerobic. Basil was willing to go for me but didn’t want to go either. We ditched class and went out to the theatre to watch, Argylle, which was a movie made for me with an authoress heroine and spies and action and ice skating and so much silliness. It made me realize that the way I need to spend my evenings is enjoying my children in whatever fashion we find to enjoy each other. I emailed the teacher and unenrolled us. Irish dancing might be the shortest hobby I’ve stuck with though Pilates didn’t last long either.
Though Mike is my favorite guy to hang out with, my boys come in as close seconds, and any time I spend with my daughters is a joy. I’m thankful for all my children, and now in Basil’s senior year, I’m especially thankful for him. I love the man he’s becoming while enjoying his youth.
Syra's Scribbles 