This is my home-game entry for The Real LJ Idol. I am not competing this season but invite you to read the many fine submissions and the home-game entries. Topic number 19 is an open topic, which means we can write about anything.
My mom and dad with me as an infant.
Visiting my parents this past weekend, I found myself wondering what our son will think of us someday. Don't get me wrong: I love my parents, but they both have personality quirks that drive me a little mad. As we were packing to go home, I turned to my husband, The Gryphon, and said, "Let's try to be normal."
He laughed and then replied, "It won't happen. No matter what we do, he'll still think we're weird."
"Yes, and no matter how cool we are," I agreed, "he'll think we're out of touch."
In the future, we can probably look forward to conversations like the following:
Me: Why don't you send me an e-mail instead?
Son: Nobody sends e-mails any more. I don't even own an old-style computer. They stopped making them 10 years ago.
Me: Ours still works. Send me an e-mail.
Son: (mumbling to himself) While I'm at it, why don't I just carve it on a rock?
Son: Gooey Soup. They've got the top album.
Me: It sounds like... (shudder) crooner music.
Son: It is, Mom. Forties standards are all the rage.
Me: In my day, music had a beat! Rockers were cool, darn it! Cool!
Son: Mom, you're so square. Nobody says "cool" anymore.
Driving home, we talked more about what our son might be like. We both agreed that we would feel much more comfortable with our son turning into a skate rat with black nail polish than we would with... other eventualities.
Me: Go ahead. I'm listening.
Me: You know you can tell me anything.
Son: Mom, I'm a... jock.
Me: (sharp intake of breath) That's fine, son. We still love you. Even if we don't understand your lifestyle, we'll try to support it. Now tell me again the difference between a field goal and a touchdown?
Son: (sighing) That's football, Mom. I play baseball.
Me: Sorry. I don't mean to sound sportsophobic. This might take me a while.
Gryphon: (entering the room) What's going on?
Me: Our son has something to tell you, but you might want to sit down first.
I suppose that, despite our best efforts to mold him into our image, we'll soon see signs of our son's own personality and tastes, which might be drastically different from ours. When that day happens, I'll try to be as open-minded as I can. At least as long as he's an infant, we can dress him in that cute Star Fleet onesie my College Roommate gave us.
All parents end up embarrassing their children.