My son is home for spring break. He arrived with a duffle bag full of dirty laundry, a big smile, and a bear hug for me.
Hanging out with him, I sometimes feel like we don't have much to talk about. We cover most topics pretty well -- school, his friends, local news (um, gossip), his plans for the future... stuff. To really engage him, though, it's necessary to bring up something he's passionate about, which would include football, the Packers, Angels baseball, USC Football, Duck Dynasty, the Food Network and, oh yeah, football.
Unfortunately, I know little to nothing about these topics.
Often when we're eating dinner, my son and my husband will have animated discussions about the above subjects. That's good for them. Sometimes I get annoyed, but I just get up and do the dishes.
Last night we went out to eat, and I drove my son home from the restaurant. It was just the two of us in the car. He took out his iphone and started doing his iphone thing -- and that was OK. We were listening to the radio and I mentioned to him that I had surprised my hairdresser that day by knowing who he meant when he referred to RiRi.*
"Mom," he said, "most women your age wouldn't know who that is. You're cool about music."
We like the same music, my son and I. Lots of folk rock, and he's even a Sinatra fan.
Just then, Adele came on the radio. Much to my surprise, he started to sing along, in tune. I don't think he even realized he was doing it, it was so natural and un-self-conscious.
"Never mind I'll find, someone like you..."
I asked if he would mind if I blogged about his singing, about my big, burly football player crooning a sweet love song.
He reached over and stroked my hair, his big hand gentle on my head.
"It's fine, Mom. None of my friends read your blog so I don't mind."