An Angry Hum

“What would you do if your mom and I were dead?”

I can’t remember the first time I said this to The Boys, but I want to say I thought it was pretty pithy at the time. I still sort of do, I guess.

I’ve been a good dad to a couple great guys, and I’ll grab whatever credit I plausibly can, but I also know there’ve been a few things I wish I’d done better. I could’ve handled the battles over homework better, that’s for certain. I could’ve been more consistent over all, that’s also certain.

A more nuanced regret is that I did a C+ job on preparing them for Not Living At My House. I don’t want to say adulthood, because that’s too amorphous, too non-specific. Instead I’ll say I did not do a great job of preparing The Boys for Not Living At My House.

Off the top of my head, here are a few things I did not teach them about Not Living At My House.

*Health insurance, even in your early Twenties, is important.

*The DMV is shitty. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve still got to go.

*THIS is how you make a good omelette. But in a pinch, yes, you can microwave one.

*A sharp kitchen knife is not only more efficient, but also safer.

*Addendum: Do NOT cut a bagel while holding it like a taco.

*Most of the time, an error born out of ignorance is solvable, and it’s effects temporary.

*Spices have a shelf life.

*The day after you buy a house, there’s a good chance you’ll have to mow the lawn or shovel the walk.

*A shirt that needs ironing will not “relax” between home and work.

I don’t remember to which of The Boys I first said “What would you do if your mom and I were dead?”, nor do I remember why I said it. But I remember the sentiment, the tone. I was asked a question so insipid and lazy that it was a little insulting. Then, as that initial wave ebbed, it was replaced with, “could this be my fault? Is this a thing I should’ve taught them?” I also wasn’t really in a position, at that moment, to answer the question, so…

“What would you do if your mom and I were dead?”

“I dunno, call someone at the _______?”

“Yep. Let me know what they say.”

Seemed brilliant. Taught a bit self-reliance without having to do a damn thing. I’m a great dad!

It still seems pretty good. And that’s not always how things go for me. It’s just as likely that I realize days later that I’ve managed to be insulting, awkward, and simultaneously useless.

Anyway, the reason I’m thinking about this is Younger Son texted me yesterday. It was a picture of a very, very flat tire and the word “Sweeeeet”.

I texted back, “Is it driveable?” Which in retrospect was a stupid question. I know, some idiots think there’s no such thing as a stupid question, but they’re idiots. Of course there are stupid questions. Let’s say a building fell on YS’s car, smashing it perfectly flat. If I were to ask him if the car was driveable, well, that’s a stupid question. Yes, I’d be stupid for asking it, but it’s still a question that was stupid.

“Is it driveable?” Of course it’s undriveable. It’s a very, very flat tire. Moving past that, let me explain a little something about YS. He’s a brilliant young man. Empathetic and loving to a fault, if such things can ever be described as a fault. But he’s also The World’s Worst Debater. He treats debate and disagreement like a bloodsport. He digs in fast, he digs in angry, and he won’t let go until way, way too late. And when he’s frustrated or unsure, he tends to take it out on those trying to help. It can be…trying.

However, as he’s grown, and achieved an intermediate level of wisdom and self-awareness, he’s developed the ability to recognize it, and perform a dramatic course correction.

So during our text conversation yesterday about a very, very flat tire that was obviously rendering his car undriveable, I could sense he was agitated and irritated. His responses were intentionally obtuse. You know the tone. Let’s say you’re talking to someone, and they’re telling you about how the pizza they ordered for lunch had onions on it, though they’d specifically said they didn’t want onions on their pizza. You then, trying to engage, ask “Where were you?”

“At the pizza place!” Obtuse, rude, and adversarial.

I could tell this is where he was. But within a couple minutes he’d settled into a much better place. He was still irritated, but was able to see the truth in the situation. There was no one to blame, there was no Grand Conspiracy plotting against him. It was just a bummer, that’s all.

So I went down to his apartment, having picked up a borrowed air compressor from my dear friend The Destroyer of Comfort Zones (who also happens to be the father of one of YS’s roommates). We were going to use the air compressor to pump up the tire and see if he could get it to the tire shop. YS saw me pull up to his building and came out, with a smile on his face, and greeted me with a hug.

The air compressor didn’t help. As the air was being pumped into the tire, we could hear it exiting from somewhere else. Undriveable. So I asked, “where’s your jack?”

And from that point he did all the work as I stood by, the old dad. He asked questions, and I answered the best I could. We had the tire changed quickly.

I realized on my drive home that I hadn’t screwed up by not teaching him how to change a tire when he was sixteen. I taught him how to change a tire when he needed to be taught, and that was good enough.