My middle son leads quite the interesting life. He is always busy. He has been busy since the day he was born. My son wants to go to medical school. Earlier this week he shadowed a urologist doing seven different surgeries. He texted the family, that he held a person’s kidney in his own hands, for the first time. He was so excited. My daughter and I tried to keep our dinners down, as he described, in vivid detail the different surgeries that he had observed, involving the kind of anatomy that urologists care for, in their line of work. When I glanced at my husband, a few times, I noticed that he had a greenish hue about him. There was a lot of leftovers left on our plates that night. I have a sense that I already know more than I have ever wanted to know about surgeries, and we’ve only just begun on this journey. It’s kind of like having a relative who is a pilot (I have a couple of those) or in law enforcement or in the military or even the restaurant industry. Ignorance is bliss. I believe that statement to the very bottom of my soul. But I never want to squelch anyone’s zest for life and I am one of those people whom other people love to tell their stories. I am very open and curious, sometimes to my own detriment.
I just had a quick chat with this same son this morning, as he was headed out the door to play an early morning alumni soccer game with previous coaches and players from his alma mater high school. He mentioned that he was going to an ugly Christmas sweater party tonight and then he talked about the Ferrari and the Rolls Royce that he drove last night. He is a valet during the summer and his company allows him to take on some jobs during his college breaks, to make extra money. Since cars are one of his passions, the tips that he gets are the icing on the cake. Being a valet is a dream job for him. (And if you are as curious as I am, the Ferrari driver and the Rolls driver both gave him a twenty each.)
I love that I have reached the stage of life where I am mostly now just a sideline cheerleader, an awestruck observer, and sometimes a student who is mostly just inspired by and thrilled for, my almost grown children. If you want to stick to the car analogy, it’s like I’ve done my job, helping to build the machines and now I am just eager to see what they can do. Occasionally the machines come roaring back for a pit stop or to get recalibrated and restored by us, their pit crew, but then they head roaring off again, at a clip pace to their lives’ destinations. I just sit in my overalls, holding my wrench, with a little grease on my forehead, and I shake my head in utter amazement. Then I turn inward, and I realize that it is time to put more of that fine-tuning focus on my own little machine, on that cute, little, jumpy car that I call “me.” I get out my tool box (my tools have pink handles, but they are solid and steely and strong) and I get to work.