Post #238

This week, my eleven-year-old boarded an airplane and flew to Minnesota. By himself. I was impressed; he didn't voice any concerns. I've flown as a twenty- and thirty-something-year-old with more anxiety. Many times. It was scary right after 9/11, but even since then I've entertained all kinds of fantastic fears. I'm more aware of common and uncommon air travel issues, but it's enough for me – compared to me, at least – to think of my son as calm and brave. Michael also loves Minnesota so much he'd probably hitchhike there if permitted, unfazed by the crazies and hazards he'd dodge on the road. He'd get there; I wouldn't bet against him. It's moot, of course. People don't hitchhike like they used to (according to Papa Mike who thumbed and mooched many a long, strange ride, apparently, in his erstwhile youth).

And it's time for another fart joke... I was tucking Megan in last night when she rolled onto her side – for optimum, undampened firepower I presume – and made a sound less melodic but more emphatic than the percussion in Sophie's band concert earlier in the evening. Yeah, the noise came from her backside. It's true what they say: Women do it better! Megan's flatulence has length, depth, and range. I was dazzled. And damaged. It was an incredible blast and Meg giggled triumphantly. I gave her a look of mock horror, which I couldn't hold, and then we laughed and roared together.

Every day, for months now, Megan has worn two bracelets I bought for her in Brazil. They're of the thread friendship variety, nothing special, but it's funny how I began to notice them and feel flutters of pride, as if her devotion to the bracelets is devotion to me. People-pleasers are an interesting breed, and I'm pretty sure I'm a card-carrying member. It's often an unappealing arrangement for me and those around me, so I'm not bragging. The impulse is very strong, and consequences vary. When it comes to M 'n' m, I can't decide if I'm more or less eager and weird than usual, and how this impacts them. Simply put, we're back to the agonizing, "Am I a good or bad parent?" Who knows. No biggie, it's only the most important thing to me.