She and I met some dear friends for a beer on Sunday. It was they, their two adult sons, and a pair of lovely fiancés. It got me thinking…
When The Boys were small, they were so much fun. Not infants, or newborn certainly, but like, toddlers. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of babies, it’s just that they’re more work than fun. Lovable certainly. Cute and cuddly of course. But not fun. Toddlers can be work too, but they’re also fun and hilarious. Our two were great; curious, friendly, and eager to laugh. I loved that age.
I enjoyed their grade school years too. They were both adventurous, at mealtime and out in the world at large. Now, our Younger Son did NOT like going fast and He did NOT like heights, but he’d eat anything, and he was curious about every place we took him. He did NOT get bored. Older Son got bored quickly, but he was ALWAYS excited to be excited.
Then, there was the Junior High Years. Yikes. I loved them at that age, and have great memories of them, but man did they suck. They were trying out personalities like they were trying out wardrobes, and the results were the same: ill-fitting and off-putting. They looked weird, they acted weird, they made me feel weird by association.
High School was good while occasionally exceeding great. The Boys were starting to look and act like who they are. They worked hard-ish. They orbited Greatness without committing to the final approach. They were respectful, generally (though as I type this I’m reminded of some exceptions, like the Math Textbook Incident). One thing they always were though, were great sons. We enjoyed one another’s company very much (about 75% of the time).
But here’s my real point, having coyly buried the lede: My favorite age so far is this one. I really like those guys. Sure, sometimes I scratch my head at the things they do or say. At times the compulsion to say, “Sit down bud, I want to talk to you about something” is just too strong, and I’m weak. Mostly though, I really enjoy hanging out with them.
Not long ago, She and I, The Boys, and Future Daughter-In-Law went to Chicago. It was a blast. We walked a lot, and ate and drank a lot. One night, after we’d gotten back to our AirBnB, Younger Son got a text from two of his closest friends, C & C, now living in Chicago, telling him that he should join them at a bar in Wrigleyville. I told him he should go, as the others had gone to bed. He told me no, that WE were going. With the tiniest amount of trepidation, I said sure. So up to Wrigleyville we went, and along the way I asked if it was weird that I was tagging along. He said, “not at all,” and that was that.
We met C & C at the bar, and they were playing a card game with a pair of young ladies they’d met while studying abroad. It sort of added to my initial discomfort, and I quickly felt the obviousness of my presence. I’m a 50-something man with a grey beard, and a bit chubby. I’m tattooed with pierced ears and usually wear a hoodie, Chuck Taylor’s, and a backwards baseball cap. Sartorially, I’m an idiot. I don’t just orbit Goofy, I fully committed to the approach.
But I had fun, and suspect my presence was not the buzzkill I expected.
The second bar that night was far more terrifying. Once we’d closed down the first bar, the kids decided to walk down the block to the next place. I told YS and C & C to have fun, and that I’d take an Uber back. I certainly didn’t want to ruin the vibe, you know? But C (no, the other one), told me I should come along, they wanted to buy me a beer. I was pleased about a free beer, but more importantly was touched, so I went along.
It was lunacy. I haven’t been to a bar that crowded for years. The bathrooms were just, like, right there, but it’d take me 45 minutes to get there. Shoulder to shoulder, yelling from inches away. And, here’s the point, I was older than EVERYONE. And not by a little. I must have looked like Methuselah in there. I mean old, so damn old. *sigh*
But hey, I didn’t pay for a beer that night. Every so often one of the C’s would walk up to me and hand me a fresh one. I watched YS and the Two C’s work the room, and I ruminated on the fact that I’m a lucky dad. I enjoy the company of my sons, and I believe they enjoy mine. Even if it finds me standing in a bar, shoulder to shoulder with The Youths, staring wistfully at the bathroom door. I mean, it’s just right there, but it might as well be on the goddamn moon.
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