When my son was born, my mother said, “Some day you’re going to know what it’s like,” a reference to all the hell I put her through during my teen years.
I thought of that many times on Friday night as I repeatedly tried to call my teen-age son on his cell phone and got no response–hours after he was supposed to be home.–and hours after he’d left for the city with some NJ friends.
Not only did we not know where he was, he was supposed to get on a plane early this morning and head to California for music camp!
Around 3 am, before I called the police, I called a friend of his and got the cell phone number of the kid driving the car. They were on their way back from the city, but son was asleep next to him–he said.
What is the short version of “I’m not going to kill you right now because we have 40 minutes get you packed before we have to leave for the airport?
Whatever it is, that’s the tune my husband and I were humming as we helped son pack clothes, select sheet music, pull tickets and itinerary together and head to airport at 4:30 am in order to put him on 6 am plane. Son, meanwhile kept saying, I just have to lie down for a few minutes, I am really tired,” and we kept going, no, no, sleep when you get on the plane.
The miracle is that we did get him on the plane.
The reality is that I am going to beat the $%^#@ out of him when he gets back, or at least find some way to make sure he doesn’t disappear without warning again. And needless to say, no more leaving the house before a trip, in fact, I think he shouldn’t leave the house again until he turns 21.
Argghh.
When my son was born, my mother said, “Some day you’re going to know what it’s like,” a reference to all the hell I put her through during my teen years.
I thought of that many times on Friday night as I repeatedly tried to call my teen-age son on his cell phone and got no response–hours after he was supposed to be home.–and hours after he’d left for the city with some NJ friends.
Not only did we not know where he was, he was supposed to get on a plane early this morning and head to California for music camp!
Around 3 am, before I called the police, I called a friend of his and got the cell phone number of the kid driving the car. They were on their way back from the city, but son was asleep next to him–he said.
What is the short version of “I’m not going to kill you right now because we have 40 minutes get you packed before we have to leave for the airport?
Whatever it is, that’s the tune my husband and I were humming as we helped son pack clothes, select sheet music, pull tickets and itinerary together and head to airport at 4:30 am in order to put him on 6 am plane. Son, meanwhile kept saying, I just have to lie down for a few minutes, I am really tired,” and we kept going, no, no, sleep when you get on the plane.
The miracle is that we did get him on the plane.
The reality is that I am going to beat the $%^#@ out of him when he gets back, or at least find some way to make sure he doesn’t disappear without warning again. And needless to say, no more leaving the house before a trip, in fact, I think he shouldn’t leave the house again until he turns 21.
Argghh.