One Proud Parent

You can't see me right now, but if you could, you would want to ask me about the big, fat grin on my face. Three hours ago, I left the house worrying about how I was going to hold my own against a slate of very competitive tennis players in the quarterly mixed doubles social event at the club I work for. I obsessed about the hitch in my service toss, my inability to hit decisive ground strokes and my less than lightening reaction time. Now that it's over, all I can remember is that I got to play two hours of tennis with my son.

To say that I'm proud of the person he's become is comparable to saying that George Clooney is kind of good looking. He was the youngest participant of the twenty teams by almost twenty years but that didn't matter to him in the least. Everyone of his opponents commented on his politeness; his sense of fair play. Several people made a point of telling me that he was a testament to my good parenting. I can only hope that that is true. I only know that he gave up a Friday night to partner with his less than stellar tennis playing mom, always making me feel encouraged and supported. As we socialized with the other teams after two hours of playing, I couldn't help but feel blessed to have such an amazing person for a son.

As luck would have it, I got the added bonus of being able to drive him home. We talked about our matches as well as his plans for the future. He congratulated me on some good shots I had made and told me how much he enjoyed playing with me. He asked if he could come over on Sunday to talk about what path his life is going to take next. He sounded so mature, so ready to take on the next challenges in his life. Any worry I had about his future flew right out the window. As he hugged me, I felt so grateful to have raised this incredible young man. He's going to be just fine. And I couldn't be prouder.

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.