He gathered up his new acoustic guitar and his amplifier and took them into the living room.
It was there that he sat with his guitar teacher - to learn his lessons.
I'd walk by every so often and see him listening diligently and strumming on his strings. He'd look up seriously and ask questions. He'd write on his pad.
He was a good student.
When the lesson was over, he walked to the door to escort his teacher to his car.
I followed.
I stayed back a ways, near the front door, while he walked beside his teacher down the sidewalk.
After his teacher had loaded his own guitar and amplifier into his trunk, he turned to Little Billy and shook his hand, "Good job," he was saying - or something to that affect.
My son shook his head and smiled.
Then ...
Little Billy, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets, looked up at his teacher and said, "When I get my band - are you gonna come and see me?" he spoke so confidently.
His teacher assured him he would.
"You'd better," Little Billy began to walk away. He then looked over his shoulder, "Because I'll mention you - ya know?" he giggled. "You are the one who taught me."
His teacher laughed and then waved at me in the doorway.
I smiled.
I waved back.
I thought ...
This man has little idea of what has just happened.
What this small boy was offering.
But, I did.
I had taught him the lessons and was proud to hear his words.
Show gratitude for your gifts.
Give thanks to those that help you.
Appreciate where you came from.
Never leave anyone behind.
Good boy!
On the upside ... He has soooo got the most positive attitude and soooo going to make good things happen in his life. I just know it! I just hope that the love and kindness and generosity that he shows now ... follows him all the days of his life.
He's the sort of boy that has never shown a fear of wandering into the woods alone or racing his bike up a ramp that sends him flying into the air.
He likes fast motorcycles and go-carts.
He likes pellet guns.
He likes bows and arrows.
He likes chasing after animals and hiding in dark, scary places where no one will find him.
People have often commented that "Little Billy isn't scared of anything," and it is very true.
Not long ago, I was in my room working and I heard a noise on the roof.
I went out on the deck just off my second story bedroom.
I glanced up to the roof, held my hand in front of my face to block the direct sun from my eyes. I squinted and searched to see if I could spot one of our cats or squirrels making the noise above me. Suddenly ... between the sun and me ... I saw a small boy's silhouette standing on the peek of the house - two stories off the ground.
"Little Billy," I yelled.
"Yes, Mom," he answered casually.
"GET DOWN OFF THE ROOF!"
"Awwww, Mom," he grumbled, as he made his way back across the shingles and over to the tree he had used to elevate his tiny self to this escapade of danger.
He looked back over at me, "Can I have a hug?" he asked, knowing that maybe this request would soften his mother from beating the crap out of him.
"When you get down," I answered calmly.
On the upside ... I know -- this is not good -- on so many levels. But, this is not an uncommon occurrence for this boy child of mine. Sometimes, my mom will be at my house and she will suddenly announce, "Little Billy's on the roof," or "Little Billy's up in that tree - do you see him?" I know --- this is not good. But, this child is a dare-devil. I warn him to stay down from high places - I do! It scares me to death. But, I have to admit -- I also love the idea that he is a free spirit that follows the whims that entice him to live his life at accelerated speeds and exhilarating heights -- over a boy that is trapped in a life that brings him no joy or adventure.
I hugged the boy when he got down from the roof and I scolded loudly, "YOU'VE GOT TO STOP DOING THAT - YOU SCARE THE LIVING DAY LIGHTS OUT OF ME!"
He flashed his most charming James Bond smile and said, "Okay, Mom," and then went on his way.
Uh ... wait, that's not true. I'm the least patient person I know.
But, I do pride myself on being a good mother.
Uh ... wait, that's not true either. I'm basically a mediocre mother at best and I know this.
Okay, I am friendly and like large crowds.
Uh .... wait, that's false. I'm not a fan of large crowds and even search out ways to hide sometimes even from my own family.
Like recently, when I tiptoed like a quiet mouse upstairs to escape into my bathroom for some peace and quite.
Yes - I just went in there and sat at the small bench in front of my antique vanity and stared into the mirror at my frazzled reflection.
I was just looking for a bit of solitude.
I was just taking a minute for myself.
I was HIDING!
It didn't last long.
Suddenly ....
I hear someone enter the bathroom and start the shower in the room on the other side of the wall from me.
I hear some scuffling around and a bit of humming.
It does not take long before I know who is in there when the child begins to ramble incessantly ...
"NO," he says loudly.
"I KNOW," he then says even louder.
"DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?" he's speaking in a voice that is echoing painfully loud off the tile walls of the bathroom.
"NO, I DO NOT KNOW - DO YOU KNOW?" he is talking to himself.
"I KNOW THERE IS NO ONE HERE, DO YOU KNOW WHY NO ONE IS HERE?" He goes on and on using the word NO is too many different and annoying ways.
"I TOLD YOU NO! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT NO MEANS? NO? WELL, NO MEANS NO! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?" He is now giggling after each creative sentence.
"NO, NO, NO! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANYMORE ABOUT IT. I SAID NO!" His voice fades a bit as he steps into the shower and slams the glass door.
I smiled.
And then ...
I sighed loudly.
And then ...
I got up and went to search for somewhere else to HIDE!
On the upside ... NO, I don't KNOW the next word he repeated over and over again, but I am confident that after I escaped the bathroom that there were likely additional vocabulary words tortured by the small boy.
Little Billy went away this past Saturday to Boy Scout camp.
FOR A WEEK!
Before he went I, of course, helped him pack.
We were organizing his stuff on the bed in his room. "Make sure you brush your teeth, every single day," I pleaded.
"Oh ... there won't be water there," he said, while helping me fold his shorts and shirts and underwear. "I don't think there will even be bathrooms," he never looked up.
I glanced across the room, "Oh ... there will be water," I giggled.
"And ... make sure you brush your hair - don't let your hair be a mess all the time," I harped.
"I will - here's my brush - SEE," he waved a black brush above his head.
"And ... change your clothes. If you come back in the same outfit you left here in - people will talk about you. You'll be known as the "STINKY-On-The-Upside" boy," I poked him in the ribs.
"I will," he was annoyed.
"And ... make sure you keep your stuff neat. Don't make a big ol' mess in your trunk or you won't be able to find anything. Keep it neat," I instructed and smiled.
He rolled his eyes.
He turned in my direction.
He said ...
"Mom ..."
"It's cool!
I can handle this.
I am ...
A Boy Scout - ya know," he reached over, grabbed his Boy Scout cap and put it on his head.
"Stop worrying so much!
It's coooool."
On the upside ... Come back soon ... Little Billy - I miss you!
In the meantime, cozy up to that camp fire and ... send your mom a smoke signal - or something!
When I was young, I don't necessarily think I was all that cool.
I was definitely cooler than I am now.
I try to be a cool mom.
I'm not really all that cool, but I try.
I don't know how important it is to be cool, but I often hope that my kids think I'm cool.
I want my kids' friends to think I'm cool.
I'm also fine believing that my kids are also cool.
Little Billy asked me recently, "Mom, do you think I'm cool?"
Sitting in the front seat of the van, looking at my cute, dark-headed son in the rear view mirror, I said, "Definecool."
"Huh?" he says, a confused look on his face.
"Tell me what cool means. Definecool."
"You know - cool. Do you think I'm cool? Do I act cool. Do I look cool. Am I - cool?"
"Absolutely! You are cool," I said, smiling at my boy with the most confident smile.
"Define cool," he then says.
"Is this a trick?" I ask.
"No - I'm just curious what you think is so cool about me."
Hum. "I think everything is cool about you. Your hair is cool. Your personality is cool. Your clothes are cool. You are definitely cool," I say, trying to maintain my confident smile.
"You're not really the best person to ask - about cool - are you?" he says, totally innocent, but giggling a little too much.
I went to my son's school to meet with his teacher for a conference.
We sat at the table in her room, went over issues Little Billy has been having about not remembering things - like ... when tests are coming up ... reviewing for tests ... studying for tests ... failing tests! (He is going to be the death of me!)
The moment he walked into the house I said, "Little Billy, do you have homework?"
He runs up the stairs and stops on the third step, turns back toward me and says, "You know I have homework. I always have homework. Why do you always nag me?"
Has a girlfriend - who happens to look just like him - a lot like me when I was a kid (really weird).
He's on the phone with her non-stop (from the few conversations I could force myself to eavesdrop on - endure - they were mostly speaking in tongues - talking gibberish - much to my relief).
I see my husband in front of the TV. "Where's the boy?" I ask.
"On the phone with the girl," he offers with a bit of a proud smirk on his face.
I step right in front of him. "You've had the talk with him, right?" Hands on my hips as I glare down at my cowboy husband, who, by the way, is far too proud of his boy and his new relationship - proud in the way redneck fathers are proud - you know ???
His eyes flutter up to me - confused.
"The. Talk!" I huff.
He sort of rolls his shoulders and gives me that look that is meant to imply he will obey - only he might not, actually. He might just have let my (demand) request seep right in one ear and out the other - hope for the best - you know - with the boy - with me.
"I did bring up the girl today," my husband offers proudly, like the mere fact they discussed her would impress on his offspring to never ... actually TOUCH her!
"Yeah? And ...?" I ask, hands still firmly on my hips.
Husband pulls me closer. Says, "He saw right through me. Created a diversion. Asked me, 'And what about all those animal noises I hear comin' from your room at night?'" Husband pulls back, eyes wide, sparkling, humored.
My mouth drops. I say, "You don't ... you don't think he actually hears anything, do you?" Surely he was just trying to distract you - making up stuff."
Husband shrugs and peeks around me to see the TV.
I begin to walk away and then look back over my shoulder. I say, "Talk. To. Him! And, next time, don't let him get you side-tracked. And, for cripes sake, don't explain the animal noises."
Husband laughs.
On the upside ... Okay ... so I guess I'm going to have to sit the boy down and seriously talk to him - again. God only knows what sort of noises the boy thinks he's actually heard ... and how anxious my redneck husband might be to pass along a few pointers. Ugh! You might be a redneck if ... you pat yourself on the back when your son points out he's heard animal noises coming from your bedroom.
*Disclaimer: There has never been actual animal noises emitted from our bedroom. My husband might be a bit of redneck, but ... I am not. I would not be at all enthused to hear a sheep bawling ... or a cow mooing, if you know what I mean. Now ... jungle noises. Or firehouse noises. Or rodeo noises. Okay ... enough of that.
When he was small, he followed after me everywhere, just like his sisters. He clung to my leg when he was confronted by strangers. He was on my lap and in my arms for the beginning days of his life and seldom wanted to leave my side.
But ...
Somewhere along the way, he found himself a pair of child-sized scissors and ... he cut those apron strings and off he went to find his daddy. And, the only time he really looks for me now, is to help with homework or ... late in the evening when he wanders into my bedroom, crawls up on my bed and begs me to rub his back. I am always happy to oblige.
Following, for so many years, in his father's footsteps, has led Little Billy to many places he would not have experienced if he had stayed home, close by my side.
It has offered him a life filled with exciting adventures and manly errands. Of fast cars and dirty finger nails. Of time spent under the hoods of cars, in the aisle ways of Ace Hardware and Auto Zone, searching for parts and tools. Of time at the end of a pier with fishing lines strung into murky waters. Of peering through slits of deer blinds in the coldest part of the morning. Of sharing the front seat of a truck with his dad and engaging in manly conversations.
Little Billy's daddy grew up in rural Texas. He was a country boy. He learned to hunt and fish and aim a sling shot at glass bottles lined up on the railroad tracks. He learned to work on cars and trucks and did not worry that he smelt of grease and oil. He was not coddled by his parents and was allowed a childhood that encouraged roaming and wandering and adventure.
Little Billy's daddy does not coddle his son. He allows the boy to climb trees and is content to stand below the branches and smile up in amazement and pride. He hands his boy the largest rock he can find and encourages his son to toss the rock into rivers and streams and sometimes at the broad side of a barn. He stands over the boy's shoulder and steadies a man-sized rifle.
I often worry about Little Billy. "Keep him away from the alligators," I will insist, when I hear there are Texas gators in a nearby tank. "Make sure he watches for snakes - I am not going to be happy if you don't bring him home alive!" My fears and worries are never ending. "Make sure you quiz him on his spelling words," I will scream as they climb into the truck. "He's got a spelling test tomorrow." I think they laugh at me as they drive away.
Not too long ago, the phone rang in the early morning - I was still in bed. It was Little Billy calling from school.
"Hi, Mom," his voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"Hi, Sweetie. What's up? What's the matter?"
"Nothing's wrong," he says, "Guess what I got on my math test?" He sounded very calm.
I sat up in my bed, "What? What did you get?" I hoped for good news.
"I got a 100," he said proudly.
I went on and on about how proud I was and then asked where he was calling from. He informed me that he stopped by the office to make the call, on the way to his next class.
"And ..." he went on quietly, "Dad wrecked the Corvette this morning," he offered nonchalantly. "But, you didn't hear it from me. I gotta go, Mom - see you after school."
On this morning, his dad had driven him to school early to complete a math test he had failed to finish the prior afternoon. On his way out of the driveway, he ran the rear end of the Corvette into the corner of a trailer - the damage was minimal.
I smiled a big smile when I hung up the phone that morning. While I was a bit worried about my husband's Corvette, the worry was replaced quickly with pride and smiles. Proud of a boy that took time out of his morning to call his mom. Proud of a boy that felt pride of the work he had accomplished. Proud of a boy that even though he would prefer spending his time in the woods or in the bed of a pickup truck on a back country road, he finds time to be aware that his future is dependent possibly on the worth of an A on a math test. A lesson his mother had been trying desperately to teach him. A lesson she was not certain he was grasping or embracing.
I also found it interesting that he switched sides - if for only a moment - to rat out his dad about the Corvette.
I think there might still be a bit of a bond between Little Billy and his mom. I might not know how to load a shot gun or clean a catfish, or be comfortable when I see my son on the top of the roof or slinging razor blades at a bull's eye painted on a sheet of plywood, but ... I do believe he might just be looking to me to help guide his little butt through school. He might just believe he will do good to achieve scholastic honors along with ... antlers he can mount on his wall.
HAPPY 12th BIRTHDAY, LITTLE BILLY!
May your life always be filled with adventure.
May you always realize how lucky you were to have such a wonderful father.
May you never forget that the part of my heart that is yours ... is overflowing with love and pride for my precious son.
