Monday, 30 September 2013

When you Know you Love your Child

Small son with big brother

I've sometimes had a sneaky feeling that I might not love small son as much as I should - so does he drive me nuts with his untidy bedroom,  carelessly knocking dents into his/my car, being totally unable to tell me in the morning whether he will be home for a meal at night and numerous other irritating habits.  At the age of 24, he is still living at home. On Saturday night, he went off to yet another party with friends and on Sunday morning, my husband's cell phone rang, small son's indistinct voice said,  "Daddy? daddy?  (not hearing us this side)...."I've had an...."   and his phone went dead.  ACCIDENT!  supplied my mind immediately and my nerves went into overdrive,  I started shaking, couldn't eat my breakfast,  wanted to jump in my car and drive over to the suburb, he was reputedly in, phone the police and all the hospitals.  Ten minutes later the house phone rang.  "Oh, daddy, I've had an IDEA..."  I can't tell you the enormous relief at the sound of his voice, relating some plans for the day.  It was one time in my life when I have not minded feeling like a fast-deflating balloon.


  1. I remember those days of the son living at home or somewhat at home. At the age of 23, my son got himself drunk at a bar ("But Dad, my high school buddies that I hadn't seen in years kept buying me drinks." "Yes and you kept drinking the god damned things!"), plowed into a parked car, drove off, realized what he did and called the police on himself while sitting in a parking lot. He spent the night in jail, he had banged up his head a bit, minor fortunately, his car was totaled, and he was looking at some pretty serious charges.

    I was fit to be tied. So I went off and tried to assess the situation, saw the impounded car, saw the parked car, talked to the insurance company, and went to see the police chief of the township that he pulled this off.

    On the way home from seeing the police chief, I was furious. I was humiliated that my son could do such a thing. I was seething at my him. I am going to kill him, not literally, but I was extremely pissed.

    And then... I got a gift from God.

    I passed a road side memorial, one of those makeshift crosses that people place at the site of their loved one's death from a car accident. There were three young women, about my son's age placing flowers at this cross. But for the Grace of God, those women could have been there for my son. I broke down and started crying to the point that I had to pull over in a parking lot, I could no longer drive. My son could have killed himself and I am furious over a hunk of iron and some legal problems. No one got killed, no one got hurt, and I still had my son.

    I was no longer furious, except perhaps myself. So yes, I think of this and your son's wayward phone call as gifts from God. They remind us that yes our kids are a royal pain in the ass, but they are precious to us.

    Your son will grow up, and in your golden years you can richly enjoy the irony of when his kids pulls the same bullshit on him!

    1. Yep. I knew you felt the same about your son. Don't we all.