Jacob went to a BBQ today. It was with his girlfriend and her parents. I met them when I dropped him off at their house. Nice folks. And little Miss M is just a cutie, with her silky, red hair and sweet little fourteen year old smile behind those braces. Oh yeah, she could be trouble.
Nonetheless, I was all for the BBQ because since I began homeschooling the boys, I’ve been concerned about them having enough social interaction.
I dropped him off around one pm.
I didn’t get worried until around six when I realized he had been there for five hours and still no call to pick him up. I let it go. Then came seven. Then eight. Look, I am a cool mom, people. I remember 14. I don’t want to embarrass him. But seven hours? What kind of BBQ is this on a Sunday night?
I nonchalantly called her mom. “Uh, yeah, Hi, this is Jake’s mom? Is he…is everything okay?” I didn’t really think about what I was going to say until it was too late to think of something, okay? I stammered through it like a moron.
Of course everything was okay. But they were just sitting down to eat. They were a little busy with other activities that, hopefully, did not include leaving two 14-year-olds alone to explore the birds and the bees…
I asked to speak to Jake. Look, I realize that might be insulting…but you don’t know me. I’m crazier than the entire Jackson clan all rolled in one. I had horrible images of him being bound and gagged, turning on the spit over the fire in their front yard. I don’t know why my mind goes to the places it does. I’m not saying it makes any sense, okay? It’s just the way it is.
He comes on the line. He’s fine. I’m clearly a spaz. I hang up.
9:30 he FINALLY, FINALLY calls. They’re ready for me to pick him up.
There’s no point to this story except that I FINALLY, FINALLY got to say, on the way home: “You know, WHEN I WAS A KID, we never spent 8 hours at a boyfriend’s house for a BBQ. We weren’t even ALLOWED boyfriends. We weren’t even allowed BBQs. We weren’t even allowed to eat. It was all work, all the time. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow.”
He was very impressed. I could tell.
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4 Responses to Across the ages, the voices sing the same.
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A Woman's Manifesto
Because a woman’s work is never done.
and is underpaid, or unpaid, or boring, or repetitious,
and we’re the first to get fired,
and what we look like is more important than what we do.
And if we get raped its our fault
and if we get beaten we must have provoked it
and if we raise our voices we’re nagging bitches
and if we enjoy sex we’re nymphos
and if we don’t we’re frigid
and if we love women it’s because we can’t get a real man
and if we ask our doctor too many questions we’re neurotic or pushy
and if we expect childcare we’re selfish
and if we stand up for our rights we’re aggressive and un-feminine
and if we don’t we’re typical weak females
and if we want to get married we’re out to trap a man
and if we don’t we’re unnatural
and because we still can’t get an adequate, safe contraceptive, but men can walk on the moon
and if we can’t cope or don’t want a pregnancy we’re made to feel guilty about abortion
and for lots and lots of other reasons
we are part of the women’s liberation movement.- Joyce Stevens, International Woman’s Day, 1975.
Man Vs. Heart Attack
I am somewhat worried about the dude on Man v Food. He isn’t looking so good these days and putting that food away like that can’t be good for him.
“Uphill, both ways, in the snow!” Did you go to the same school as me? LOL!
I doubt I’d have been allowed to spend eight hours at a boyfriend’s house at fourteen, either, but I didn’t have one. Not so much that I wasn’t allowed, more that I hadn’t even thought about it by then! Late starter, I guess!
Me too! My first “serious” boyfriend, one that I would even consider meeting his parents…that wasn’t until 19! NINETEEN. Were we late starters or are they starting earlier and earlier these days??
Yay, Jake! You go boy!
MM
I didn’t get a boyfriend till I was 15 and my parents told me what time I was being picked up. I hated it. i understand exactly; “I had horrible images of him being bound and gagged, turning on the spit over the fire in their front yard. ” I often think out similar scenerios. Perhaps we should go into the horror film business?