Dream On

The other day I had yet another conversation with my son that served to illustrate how challenging our attempts at simple communication can be. It went something like this.

We were heading over to Portillo's to grab some lunch, already a good day in my book. Usually, he coerces me into a quick trip through the drive-thru but, on this particular occasion, he decided that his busy life was able to squeeze in the maximum twenty minutes he allows for any meal to actually sit across a table from his very appreciative mom. As we drove the short distance to the hot dog haven, he confided to me that he had had a horrible dream the night before. Here was my big chance. Here was my opportunity to delve inside the inner workings of my son's psyche and analyze the demons I was about to find within.

I have to admit, I'm pretty good at analyzing dreams. I've read a few books and I've had my share of bizarre night time theatrics so I feel right at home putting on my analyst hat and giving my friends and relatives the benefit of my "expertise". So, I turned to my son and said, "Want to tell me about it? I might be able to help." To which he replied, "I dreamed that the Bears traded Devin Hester to Minnesota."

He then went on to elaborate about the cold sweat he had woken up to convinced his beloved punt returner would no longer be evading tackles on the turf at Soldier Field. I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. Fearing that he would never open up to me again, I quickly composed myself and explained that what he had just described was far from what I had been expecting. He looked at me in all seriousness and said, "Mom, I don't know what you were thinking but I'm telling you, that dream was horrible. Not only was Devin Hester gone, he was playing for a team in our division."

It was then that I saw that glint in his eye; the one that had saved him so many times before. It may have been his definition of a bad dream but now he was playing me - one of his favorite pastimes. By the time he started laughing, we were in the parking lot. I put on my best Sigmund Freud imitation and told him that my theory was that he had a deep seated fear of losing his favorite football player to a rival team. He not only concurred, he ended up hanging out for an entire half an hour.

We may not be able to agree on the definition of a nightmare but I'll take whatever I can get.