What counts as a conversation at our house.
"Hello," says Son #2 as he strides through the door about 6:10.
He heads straight for the kitchen, grabs what, in my most families,
would be a family-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.
In our house it's a serving.
Or sometimes a half a serving.
"I made ribs," I say.
That's code for,
"Please do not an entire six or eight serving bag of doritos right now."
Son #2 puts the bag of Doritos back on top of the refrigerator.
"They ready?" he says, turning on heel.
"About another half hour, I got home late."
Son grabs the Doritoes again and heads for his room.
I stand in the hall doorway.
"So tell me about the practice," I say.
He has been invited to play on a new 7 on 7 team.
Another mom has told me they will practice for a month,
then go to Los Angeles for a tournament over spring break.
"When do you leave?"
"I don't know," he says.
"But we're flying."
"And you need new running shoes?" I ask.
(That info from his really favorite way of corresponding- texting in the middle of my workday).
"Yeah," he says,
"I need bigger ones."
Bigger than a size 16?
"Who was there?"
I ask, the mom in me hungry for details.
"I don't know," he says,
"just the usual."
I am still wishing for more details. I name a few names to see if I can get him to respond.
Taylor? Jason? Shahid?
(My mom's heart twinging just a little because Son #1,
headed to junior college to play football in the fall,
is no longer considered a high school player
and is no longer eligible.
The usual has always included the two of them).
"I don't know," he says,
pushing the door shut with his toe.
"How much longer until dinner is ready?"
This is the essence of slice of life writing, Carol. I love this piece because it includes humor, sarcasm, longing, conversation, description, and so much more.
And yes, the credit card will be needed for the new sneakers.
Finally, I really liked the cracks about the Doritos bag being a serving for your son. That helped me envision, along with the size 16 shoe reference, what he looks like.
Ah-those silent years. I feel for you, but then they are doing things, have plans & that's a good thing. Now if they would only speak, as in conversation. If it's any consolation, it does get better, promise. I like that you wrote this in a poem, 'ka-ching, ka-ching'.
I just love how you wrote this! A conversation of sorts with your feelings between snippets of words. That Doritos bag and ka-ching. Wow, you inspired me today!
Post a Comment