Plymouth Rock

While I think it’s true that no man is island, sometimes you must be your own rock if even as part of a continent. This was one thing that amazed me about one person in my life. This person was my son, Nathan.

I often wondered what we had in common. Our politics were different. My iPod was a cat; his iPod was a hedgehog. He said, “Sausesome,” and I still said, “Awesome.”

Growing up, Nathan had always been who he was and stood up for what he believed in. He was the only kid in his junior high school class to vote Libertarian in a mock election, a fact he was proud of when he came home from school that day. So was I, thinking most of his classmates probably thought he voted for the school librarian instead of for the Libertarian.

One day last year, he wrote me a text about stupid people. I asked him what was going on. Apparently, he had a heated debate with a few others; I told him to take caution when stating his views because of my own insecurities. He then told me that he would not back down; he would always tell religious fundamentalists that homosexuality was not wrong.

Nathan had never been one to care about his clothes. Last night, he asked to borrow the car to go to a pick-up hockey game. As he walked out of his room, I immediately noticed he was wearing an unfamiliar shirt. Before I could say anything, he twirled around in the hallway and then asked, “Like my Salvation Army flannel shirt?”

I laughed. I said, “It’s nice, and since when do you shop at the Salvation Army.” He quickly said, “Oh, it’s saucesome there. I got a pair of purple pants and a purple sweater to go with my purple sneakers, and then I got a windbreaker from the 90s. It’s one of those ones with all the colors like Will Smith used to wear!”

I said, “I didn’t know you liked used clothing.” He said, “Well, yeah.” I said, “Maybe we can go together next time.”

He grumbled. I didn’t know if it was a “yes” or “no.” I think it was a “TBD” (to be decided); nevertheless, I was smiling on the inside thinking that my son liked used clothing and had no fears wearing it.

When I first started wearing vintage clothes, I felt somewhat self-conscious. I was dressing like no one else I knew; however, after a few compliments and one uplifted nose and a “I’m just not a vintage person” from my sister, I became a rock about it.

This morning, Nathan wanted to borrow my car for the day. He drove me to work. Our unwritten rule, though Nathan might think it’s written in the dashboard next to the VIN number, is that the driver always gets to pick the music.

Of course, somehow the keys to the car disappear ten minutes before we leave, which never gives me a chance at the driver’s seat and ABBA. This morning, as I sat that waiting to get blasted with the Nine Inch Nails, Nathan rolled his finger down his iTouch and said, “Mom, you might like this.” I was surprised, because usually, his philosophy was “Listen to my music, or get out of the car.”

I listened to his hip-hop-rap-alternative tune for a minute. I said, “I like it,” though I was surprised how much Nathan’s taste in music had changed in the last few months. He then said, “Oh, wait. You might like this one, too.” We were two rocks forming a small continent; however, I'm pretty sure that it would still be a continent on which the likes of Abba and John Mayer would never be heard.

I had to stop for money, and when Nathan pulled up to the ATM machine, I handed him my card and gave him my PIN. Sixty dollars shot out of the machine, and Nathan handed it to me along with my card and the receipt. I put $20 in my wallet, and I handed $40 to Nathan and said, “Get some more gas, please, and the rest is for Harry Potter.”

He took the money and stuffed it into his pocked. I said, “You’re welcome.” He quickly said, “Thanks, and I love you….......as much as six.” I laughed out loud.

I asked, “Six?” He said, “Don’t push it, unless you don’t want to eventually make it to 7.” I laughed again at his somewhat crazy statement, and I stopped talking, because I knew I wanted to get to 7, especially if it meant I got to live in his basement when I was 65.

He pulled out of the bank, and I sat there quietly thinking “Where does he get this stuff from?” I then remembered something a friend said to me earlier in the week after I proposed she and I run off to Nantucket for just a day. She thought I was kidding, I then agreed that my idea was crazy, and then she said, “Yes, but I need to be more crazy… like you!”

Then I realized that my son was a lot like me in deeper ways, ways that spoke to composition. We didn’t share music (most of the time). We did share minerals.

As he drove me to work, I knew that the pebble didn’t chip off too far from the rock. I then asked, “Can you play the one that says something about the membrane?” He quickly scrolled down his iTouch; when the song came on, he began to move his head back and forth to the music. I laughed, because he looked like me when I listened to Dancing Queen, and I would always love my pebble like the rock he was. ♥

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