Just about now, Nick is at lunch with Adrian, waiting to be picked up to go to the fair. I picture him just sitting at the end of one of those long tables with the little square of tape delineating the space Nick needs to keep distance from the other kids' food because of his tree nut allergy. The kids will be crowding into that space and pressed against each other's shoulders down the length of the table. It will be raucous in the room from the kids' happy chatter, and the boys may have trouble hearing the announcement for them to come to the office. I didn't even pack a lunch for Nick this morning since they're stopping for lunch at Denny's on the way down to the fair.
Back in the '80s, when Mike and I met, we were both engineers at Lockheed, working in their electronics division. I was a hardware engineer and he designed software. Those were the days of Ronald Reagan's Star Wars Initiative and we were always talking about new technology, new aircraft that had been sighted over Area 51, and the incredible shrinking of the computer from the size of a building to something that could fit under one side of a desk and process a whopping 512K of data.
And there was the Global Positioning System, which began in 1973 in a program called Navstar, the synthesis of the LORAN radio-navigation, the atomic clock, and the Cold War. Our GPS conversations centered around the tendency of outdoor-technology geeks to carry it up into the mountains with them to keep themselves from getting lost. We were fans of the classic map and compass method. Now, after all of these years, we both have free apps on our phones and casually use them to find geocaches hidden near trails wherever we go. Geocaching makes hiking with kids a lot easier. The whole thing becomes a treasure hunt and Nick and Adrian run down the trail instead of slogging behind. Only now, after four years, is the newness beginning to wear off. Nick and Adrian still like it, but they don't always take a treasure out of the cache and they don't run down the trail as enthusiastically as they did. Right now, though, a different kind of global positioning is happening to me, mom radar.
By now, Nick is sitting at a booth with Adrian's family, making his own choices about lunch. They'll look like the classic American family with two parents and two kids. Nick will order a cheeseburger and probably French fries. If my message about making good choices most of the time sank in, he'll order a salad, but I don't have high hopes about that.
In about an hour, Nick will have a dizzy pass band around his right wrist and will be negotiating with Adrian about which rides they will go on. They might be walking along the pavement with elephant ears in their hands, the cinnamon and butter soaking through the napkin and dripping onto the pavement. Or maybe they'll go the route of the fair scones with strawberries, syrup, and whipped cream. Oh, I can almost taste it. These days, I take a bite of Mike's scone and satisfy myself with an ear of roasted corn and either meat on a stick or a corn dog. Nick might even try a deep-fried Twinkie or Snicker's bar for the first time.
I hope they'll take the time, later, to walk through the displays of photography, hand crafts, and art. Can you tell that I'd like to have gone to the fair today too? More than that, though, is that worry that hangs in my consciousness. Is Nick coughing? Is he feeling sick? Is he even having a good time? I'm trying to relax, but I still imagine him as he goes on his way, away from Mike and me, with people who might not hear that tone in his cough. That sounds raises the hair on the back of my neck.
Mom radar is the best and yet the worst of letting a kid grow up and begin to move away from home. I can picture him having fun, but I can also imagine his struggles as well. He's not going off to college yet, like my sister's kids, but he's on his way. Nick's smack in the middle of that time when a boy's friends become more important than his family. I just need to get on with my own work and let that internal GPS do its job while Nick still needs it.
Thanks for listening, jb
Back in the '80s, when Mike and I met, we were both engineers at Lockheed, working in their electronics division. I was a hardware engineer and he designed software. Those were the days of Ronald Reagan's Star Wars Initiative and we were always talking about new technology, new aircraft that had been sighted over Area 51, and the incredible shrinking of the computer from the size of a building to something that could fit under one side of a desk and process a whopping 512K of data.
And there was the Global Positioning System, which began in 1973 in a program called Navstar, the synthesis of the LORAN radio-navigation, the atomic clock, and the Cold War. Our GPS conversations centered around the tendency of outdoor-technology geeks to carry it up into the mountains with them to keep themselves from getting lost. We were fans of the classic map and compass method. Now, after all of these years, we both have free apps on our phones and casually use them to find geocaches hidden near trails wherever we go. Geocaching makes hiking with kids a lot easier. The whole thing becomes a treasure hunt and Nick and Adrian run down the trail instead of slogging behind. Only now, after four years, is the newness beginning to wear off. Nick and Adrian still like it, but they don't always take a treasure out of the cache and they don't run down the trail as enthusiastically as they did. Right now, though, a different kind of global positioning is happening to me, mom radar.
By now, Nick is sitting at a booth with Adrian's family, making his own choices about lunch. They'll look like the classic American family with two parents and two kids. Nick will order a cheeseburger and probably French fries. If my message about making good choices most of the time sank in, he'll order a salad, but I don't have high hopes about that.
In about an hour, Nick will have a dizzy pass band around his right wrist and will be negotiating with Adrian about which rides they will go on. They might be walking along the pavement with elephant ears in their hands, the cinnamon and butter soaking through the napkin and dripping onto the pavement. Or maybe they'll go the route of the fair scones with strawberries, syrup, and whipped cream. Oh, I can almost taste it. These days, I take a bite of Mike's scone and satisfy myself with an ear of roasted corn and either meat on a stick or a corn dog. Nick might even try a deep-fried Twinkie or Snicker's bar for the first time.
I hope they'll take the time, later, to walk through the displays of photography, hand crafts, and art. Can you tell that I'd like to have gone to the fair today too? More than that, though, is that worry that hangs in my consciousness. Is Nick coughing? Is he feeling sick? Is he even having a good time? I'm trying to relax, but I still imagine him as he goes on his way, away from Mike and me, with people who might not hear that tone in his cough. That sounds raises the hair on the back of my neck.
Mom radar is the best and yet the worst of letting a kid grow up and begin to move away from home. I can picture him having fun, but I can also imagine his struggles as well. He's not going off to college yet, like my sister's kids, but he's on his way. Nick's smack in the middle of that time when a boy's friends become more important than his family. I just need to get on with my own work and let that internal GPS do its job while Nick still needs it.
Thanks for listening, jb
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