More on child-rearing…
I have a tendency to scribble my thoughts on the back pages of books. It’s a filthy habit, I know. So Saturday, I get a call from my son, J. He’s working with his Dad at a shoot in Belgium. I can tell he’s nervous. Embarrassed.
“Mom?” he says. Then “Mom?” again.
“I’m here, J. What’s up?”
“That book you sent me? The Art of Deception?”
“Fabulous, right? Best thriller she ever wrote!”
“Yeah. But that’s not why I’m calling. There’s stuff written in the back…”
“I always do that,” I say. “Which doesn’t mean you should.”
“Well, it’s really weird, Mom. I wish I hadn’t seen it.”
“Oh Jesus!” I’m thinking. This is NOT good.
“Weird, how?” I ask, calmly.
He’s stammering. “Weird like “I’m a free bitch. And do you want to fuck me.”
I’m laughing so hysterically, I can’t breathe.
“It’s not funny, Mom.”
“Yes, it is, J. Relax.”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s Lady Gaga not me. It’s stuff she said at the concert. I was gonna blog it.”
“Oh my God!” he yelps with relief before fits of laughter. “I was terrified Dad would see it.”
“I miss you, J. Say hi to Dad!”
He hangs up, still guffawing.
There are some kids who would never have “shared” this discovery; who would have probably kept their mouths shut, harboring the secret for years, while assuming their mother had lost it. Or worse. But I’ll certainly bear this moment in mind the next time I’m free associating/scribbling down my thoughts in the dead of night.