Smudged Pages

And be a simple kind of man

Most of our weekends are busy, but this weekend was exceptionally busy. My mother-in-law, The Kiwi (she’s from New Zealand), is staying with us because our six-year-old turned seven today and we had her birthday party at a place with an arcade, movie theaters, bowling lanes, and laser tag. It could probably also be used as a research facility for infectious diseases by the CDC. I recently completed my yearly training on CPR/AED, bloodborne pathogens, and first aid, so I was ready to jump into the fray to save a choking kid or a parent who cut themselves with a bowling ball. Alas, none of that happened, so I drank soda and ate pizza like all the other boring adults.

The party place is thirty miles from home, and we had several kids who didn’t belong to us in tow, so we had to drive separately. Jacque took the Kiwi and our two girls, and I took Elias, his Girlfriend, and his Best Friend. Elias is sixteen, and Girlfriend and Best Friend are within a year of that, so I played the quiet chauffer role so they would talk naturally. Years ago, I never thought kids would speak freely while I was within earshot, but being the social scientist I am, I tested and workshopped that theory and have proved myself wrong over and over again, much to my delight. Here’s the trick.

I play music via whatever app on my phone connects to my speakers. The music has to be middle of the road type stuff. Beatles are great, Queen works, too, but really, anything from the sixties or seventies will work because teenagers are used to hearing their lame parents play that stuff and it lulls them into thinking us old people are not paying attention.

Sunglasses on, even if it’s cloudy, and – this is crucial – I drum along to the rhythm. When I start drumming, teenagers start talking because, obviously, I’m too old and dumb to place my attention in two places.

On the way home Best Friend was in the front seat beside me because Elias wanted some “alone” time with Girlfriend. The three kids talked among themselves at first, but poor Best Friend soon became the third wheel. I have been both the second and third wheels in that scenario, and that scenario has been thoroughly documented many times, so I won’t attempt to do it again here. I noticed when Best Friend faced forward and sighed while Elias and Girlfriend continued to share a phone screen, which, I assume is the same as watching a movie together in my day.

I didn’t attempt to engage Best Friend because I didn’t want to cause him additional stress. He and I get along just fine, and we’re able to talk trash to each other in the proper setting, but I knew that that wasn’t the time or the place, so I picked up my phone at a stoplight and started playing objectively un-romantic heavy metal. I don’t know if Best Friend noticed, but I hope he thinks back on today and understands the gesture I sent his way. Not that it deterred the lovebirds in the back seat. But I think it made us front seat people feel better.

Lest you think I allow shenanigans in the back seat of my Silverado, believe me, I know when to interject. I didn’t look the other way until we were almost at Girlfriend’s house, and I heard Elias ask if he could give her a kiss goodbye because they had shared such a fun afternoon. He opened and closed the door for her on both ends of our journey, and he was a perfect gentleman all day, though he had no idea I watched him like a hawk. I busied myself with driving and shuffling songs and I heard the smack of lips, and I couldn’t help but sneeze when Best Friend said, “God, this is awkward.” I don’t know if he knew it was a fake sneeze to cover up a laugh, but I didn’t want to blow my cover.

I remember when life was that simple. I envy those kids. I also remember when life was that difficult. I don’t envy those kids. I’ve traded a simple life with very few people in it for a complicated life with several people in it. I understand the draw of both, and now I choose the complicated route, where my satisfaction waxes and wanes many times faster than the moon’s cycle, but it’s what I need. One day I’ll get back to a simple life, or, more likely, a relatively simple life. It has taken me over forty years to understand that I control what my life looks like and not the other way around.

While I was grilling dinner later that night, my thirteen-year-old asked me what’s the biggest book I own. I looked at her with doe-like eyes and told her she was going to love reading Anna Karenina. Then she showed me the Morning Glories she picked from the backyard. She needed a book to press them. I tried to hide my disappointment. “Oh. In that case, use Sun House because I think Mr. Duncan will appreciate it more than the dead Russian guy.” Now my copy of Sun House has green and purple smudges on some of the pages, but they’re still perfectly legible. I hope when I reread that book during my relatively simple life, the smudges will remind me how I earned it.