“How was your nap?” I ask as he walks to the kitchen where I’m preparing dinner.
“Good. Like every other nap,” he replies with a smile, rummaging through the cabinets and the refrigerator for a snack. I’m at the counter, chopping an onion. He hugs me from behind. If the weather allows (for him, that means above 55 and sunny), he will spend some time outside working on his basketball shot. Earlier in the day I could hear him straining through some situps and pushups in his room. “Mom, will you take some pictures for me?” he asks later. He’s been customizing shoes, painting them as a tribute to Kobe. Like me, he loves the light at the end of the day. We walk outside where I take several shots of him from different angles so he can post them to social media. He’s hoping to start a business. “I can’t wait until this is all over,” he tells me at least once a week. This boy lives for basketball, and while his school season was finished, he was just gearing up to play on his favorite team with official practice set to start in early April. That obviously didn’t happen. Then the rec center closed. Thank God for our driveway hoop. “Stop it, bro,” I hear his laughing voice echo up the stairs as I work in the mornings. He’s in his bedroom below, on a video chat with a friend from school. They are supposedly collaborating on homework, but I don’t intervene if they steer off course because I’m so glad to hear the joy in his voice. They talk about shoes and NBA stars; when I’m not listening, I’m sure they talk about girls. I never thought I would be so thankful for technology. While his brother is reluctant to talk about matters of the heart, this boy wants to talk about deep topics all the time, even when I’m exhausted after a day of teaching online, helping with homework, doing laundry, and preparing three meals. How do you know God is real? How do I know what my future holds? How can things like the Holocaust happen? Those are a few of the topics we've covered in the last few weeks. He loves with this deepness and intensity, too. Sixteen is straddling a canyon, one foot in childhood, the other firmly in adulthood. Someday soon life will provide the push that gets him fully to the other side. Until then, I’m happy that he still calls me “Mama” and then raucously croons the next line from “Bohemian Rhapsody." I'm always happy to sing along.
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September 2020
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