Which Hill?

You know that feeling? That one that you get when you’ve made a poor driving decision and find yourself needing to, say, turn left from West Street on to Placer? Your timing has to be precise or it’ll end in disaster.

That’s a lot what it’s like to try to parent Dirty.

Young Derek is about as strong willed and opinionated as they come. I doubt that there’s any thoughts he keeps to himself. Being responsible for growing humans, you kind of want them to reflect some of the values you hold true. While I’m incredibly proud of how both my humans have turned out, young Derek gives me ample opportunity to consider practicing some behavior modification tactics.

Any given conversation has a number of chances where I can hop in. Maybe add a corrective “we don’t say that” or “I’m sure you don’t mean….” But if I tried to jump on every one, I’m fully aware that my voice would start to sound exactly like an indiscriminate and annoying buzzing that won’t go away. So I have to choose wisely and make sure it’s worth it.

This isn’t a new constant internal conversation for me. The boy was maybe 7 when he decided that he’s principally opposed to Walmart store brands. He’d independently determined that if Great Value cereal looked just like cheerios that the cheerio people were suffering. 7. We have no idea where this came from. It’s not like we’re a family sustained by the lucrative cheerio dynasty or anything.

The deep voice, that is intermittently enunciated, starts. “Crystal. I had to get de-zel. I only had cash so I had to go to Sunshine. I knew what the crowd was going be like at 10 o’clock on a school night…”

I feel like I’m back in car. My seat belt is on. My eyes dart left and right. I worry about making a scene in front of the other cars that are waiting behind me. Why is he out at 10 on a school night? What’s he going to say about the gas station?

“Then some guy…” The story continues. I let some questionable things go. It looks like in this one, I just decided to turn right on Placer and find another route.

The great news is, it’s Dirty. I KNOW I’ll get another chance to work on it.

Happy Mother’s Day!