Spreading Wings

13th birthday

March Forth ~ Whoo boy… birthday ice cream, a book and a check from me, then off to testing at Taekwondo. He has on his backpack, a new 13-year-old birthday tee, and a slight, very slight, mustache.
I say, “Hey, come here! Is that hair on your upper lip?”
He answers proudly, “Yeah, and I have it under my arms and other places too, as he shows me his armpit then grabs his waistband. Want to see?”
“Acckkk! No! You want me to see me in jail, don’t you!”
He kills me… marching forth on the fourth.
March 2016

Oct 2016

The Half-Blood Prince ~ My grandkids are now 8 and 13, one tall, the other now taller than me. I pick them up after school most Fridays for a sleepover and we either cook here or eat out and go to the show or watch Harry Potter movies on my computer. We’ve been doing this since Temple was five. I probably only have a couple more years of this as they are getting older. Maybe by then we’ll tire of Harry Potter, but I hope not. I won’t at least.
October 2016

Potter post-script ~ We watched Harry Potter on my computer nearly every time the kids spent the night. There are eight movies in the box set. Eight movies divided into 240 nights (or somewhere thereabouts) over a six year period (not including summers and vacations) is about 30 times each movie. In the beginning, Temple hid her head in my lap during the scary parts and Satchel averted his eyes at the kissing scenes; then they became inured. Satchel grew to become intensely interested in the kissing parts, studying technique, I suppose hoping someday he’d be lucky like that. Satchel of course wanted to be Harry, Temple yearned to be Hermione, and I vacillated between Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore, though I have a lot more of Professor Snape in me.

Nov 2016

Darwin Award Material ~ Satchel, age 13, halfway up a giant eucalyptus during a family hike: “Should I jump?”
Me: “Sure, go ahead if you want to be out for the rest of the basketball season with two broken legs.”
He may be spreading his wings, but I’m fairly certain he hasn’t learned how to fly.
November 2016

Out of the Mouths of Babes ~ “Well this place is a fuc%&*$! mess,” this from the mouth of my four-year-old grandson as he surveys the chaos on my kitchen counters, to which he is not, as yet, even eye-level.
He notes my shocked neck-snap as I wasn’t sure, nor could I believe, what he’d just mumbled under his breath.
Hanging his head, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, Oma,” confirming what I’d hoped I’d misheard.
“I’m going to tell you something, Buddy: if I’d said that at your age, I’d have had to peel myself off the wall from across the room. And if you’d said that at my age back then, you may have gotten a whipping, a mouthful of soap, or no dinner for a week. Another thing, you say that in front of an adult who doesn’t know you, they’re going to think quite poorly of you, and if you say it in front of Uncle Gordon, you will be in major trouble. You’re too young to use words like that, and it’s not okay.”
“Yes, Oma.”
“Here’s the deal. You may not swear in front of me until you are taller than I. And even then, I don’t want to hear that word escape your lips. Got it?”
“Yes, Oma.”

It’s now ten years later and Satchel has grown by leaps and bounds; every Friday we stand face to face in my kitchen to measure his growth. For a short time we are nose to nose. When the day finally comes that he surpasses me, but just barely, he steps back two feet, rests his hands on my shoulders, and happily grins, “You know what this means, don’t you?”
I laugh and shake my head, “My oh my, you do have a good memory.”
I suppose at thirteen a boy can swear, but not often in front of his grandmother. And rest assured, he knows if he uses the F word again in my presence, he may be having a bar of Ivory for dinner.
2016

© 2016. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.