My Perfect Boys, Part 1

I’ve heard some comments about my sons and how awesome they are.  Some of those words were spoken in all seriousness by people who actually know my boys, while other were said with a note of sarcasm by folks who only know what I’ve said about my kids.

Well, I may focus on the good things accomplished by my young-uns, but there have been some incidents that, while not exactly secrets, I don’t make it a point to advertise.

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Residents of our area are familiar with the Malden Wal-Mart.  From the time it was first built in the early ‘80s, Wal-Mart’s parking lot has been prone to flooding when it rains a few inches in a short time.  I’m not talking about puddles here folks; I’m talking a good-sized body of water, significantly bigger than an Olympic swimming pool.  Cars have been known to drown-out when trying to drive through it.

Despite the fact that it is in one of the busiest parts of our town, the presence of a decent size swimming pond could prove too much of a temptation to some high school age boys.  I heard rumors that someone was seen speed-stroking across it one night.  One story had it that he was in his underwear and another said he was bare-butt naked.  Both agreed that he was one of my sons.

So much for the perfect kids theory.

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One of the advantages of living in a small town is that it’s common to know people in positions of authority.  Thus it was that one of my friends on the police force “hollered” at me one day, “Hey Scott.  I’ve got something you might want to know.”

He went on to tell me about one of the more interesting experiences he’d had recently.  He was on patrol, driving on Highway 25/North Douglass, which is one of the busiest streets in Malden, when he stopped at one of our two street lights.  As he waited for the signal to change, a pickup crossed in front of him.

It was towing a teenager on rollerblades behind it.

Yep, my kid.

The officer laughed as he told me.  He’d let my son and his friend, who was driving, off with a warning.  They really weren’t hurting anyone else, just risking death or serious injury for my boy…or maybe a future full of expensive reconstructive surgery.

Yeah.

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My sons have told me about something they call “the ten-year rule,” meaning Annie and I can’t punish them for something they did more than ten years ago.

One of them reminded me about that rule when he finally told me about a time when he was home alone and took the opportunity to “borrow” his older brother’s car keys and take the vehicle out for a joy ride…at 120 miles an hour.  He was 14 years old at the time.

I pointed out to him that neither his mother nor I had ratified the ten-year rule.

My cell phone rang one day when I was working in my studio.  I saw the caller ID and leaned back in my chair, glad to hear from my son who was away at college and living in a fraternity.

“Hey, Kiddo,” I said.

“Dad,” he interrupted.  “First, I want to apologize for letting you down.”

I caught myself before I said anything that might end the conversation.  “Oh?  What for, son?”

“Some of my friends and I were working on the frat’s riding mower yesterday,” he began.

“And souping it up?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“How fast will it go?”

“About 35.”

“Wow.  OK.  Go on.”

“We couldn’t get it running, so we were working on it most of the day.”

“And drinking,” I said.  It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” he answered slowly.

He knew that I don’t believe in drinking and have little tolerance for my sons drinking, especially underage, but I had a feeling it was more serious than that.

“We got it running, and somebody had to take it for a test run.  It was kind of hard to steer at high speed, so I had to turn around in the street,” he explained. 

He hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued, “…and that’s when I saw the flashing lights.”

“Did he write you a ticket?”

“Not at first.  First, he took me to jail.  My frat brothers bailed me out.”

I couldn’t help it.  I laughed.

He was surprised by my response.  “I thought you’d be mad.”

“Well, I am, and disappointed, but you are on your own and making your own decisions.”  I concluded, “And paying for your own mistakes.”

“Yeah, but why are you laughing?” he asked.

“Because your redneck roots are showing.”

“Huh?”

“Well, son, I’ve heard about it on TV, but I never thought I would actually have a son who got arrested for mowing while intoxicated.”

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So, you see, despite the fact that my boys have made me so proud with all they’ve accomplished and the great men they’ve grown into, they have made some pretty lame-brain choices in the past. 

For the sake of full disclosure, I have to tell you that all the stories I just recounted were about only one of my boys.  Yup, the same one did all those things.  I don’t know quite as many stories about the others, but there are plenty. 

I guess most of them still believe in the ten-year rule and are waiting for that decade to be up.

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