After he told me that he now listens to heavy metal (specifically Slipknot), he also shared that he has trouble saying ‘specific’ and ‘pacific’ without getting them confused. I guffawed at the gift I have been given—-that, of which, is being his mom. (How can you be moving from single to double digits?!?!)
The fact that he was sitting outside with me, Saturday-sun-day-style, and absolutely spilling his guts, was enough to stay as quiet as possible and let his narrative go and go and go on.
He owned “the quotes“. I held the (thought bubbles).
“Mom, heavy metal is a good thing. Its explores the tough-side of the world.” (You are so wise beyond your years, how am I ever going to keep up with you?)
“Mom, remember when I didn’t know how to say hospital (hostible) and ambulance (ambliance)?. Ha, isn’t it funny that they are both medical terms” (I do remember, babe. I can still hear it.)
“Mom, would you ever let me get a tattoo? If I could, I would get a Clone Trooper.”
(WHOA…hold up!) I interrupted and stole quotes. “Hey, I like tattoos. They are permanent so you want to be really, really, really sure it’s something you want.”
“Mom, I am ALWAYS going to love Clone Troopers so that is definitely what I would get tattooed on my back. (Mental note: must revisit this conversation).
“Mom, heavy metal musicians are really nice people. Most people don’t think so. Ozzy Osbourne is one of the nicest. I think I want to watch The Osbournes.” (Check Netflix and prepare to return to 2002).
This un-conversation went on and on; -un because, after all, it was only him talking. Other than my tattoo interruption, he owned the discussion. He heard his voice and saw his way with the world.
(I don’t know if you should be listening to these songs and I am terrified of guiding you to double-digits.)
(Regardless: Specifically and pacifically, I hope you know all the ways you are wonderful).