Over the weekend my son had what can only be described as one hellacious skateboarding crash. Not a little veered-off-the-road, or a jumped-the-curb sort of accident… more like a Tosh.O-video-highlights or Johnny Knoxville kinda crash. All road rash, torn flesh, head wound, blackish purplish bruises, bloody bandages kinda crash.
He is head-to-toe sore, but was more than a little pleased with himself over how epic the wreck was. His friends were impressed with the physical carnage and he earned a serious amount of street cred.
Being that he’s a few months shy of 19, I can’t go all mommy on him like I would have if he were 9. The extent of my fussiness was to gently wash the hamburger that is now his elbow, and the pizza on his back, slather him up with Neosporin, dose him with extra strength aspirin, and try to fashion some sort of dressing that wouldn’t make it hurt even more.
Okay, I did get him a glass of ice water, his fleece blanket and tried to make him as comfortable on the couch as possible. I may have even tucked him in when he wasn’t looking. I’m getting him in to see his doctor first chance Monday to make sure nothing is getting infected. He’s not my baby boy any longer. He might like any extra attention, but he doesn’t like the hovering. He does try to get me to fetch him extra pillows, or something to drink, or snacks, or… you get the idea.
Sunday, I watched him walked around like an old man, still sore and achy. It’s hard for a mom, trying to make the boo-boos better when your little boy no longer fits in your lap. What I could do was make him something special for dinner. A big sacrifice, since it meant changing out of my weekend pjs and making a grocery run.
Perusing the frozen food aisle (hey, 19yos like cherry cheesecake ice cream too!), I ran into a very handsome young man. He had curly blond hair reminiscent of my own son’s, and the sweetest smile. He couldn’t have been more than 3. Absolutely adorable. He was helping his mother by pushing her cart while she looked for something in one of the freezers. He couldn’t see over the handles of the car, and that’s how we met.
I knelt down to talk with him, hoping to keep him close to his mom. He showed me his Cars 2 race car. I told him that my son had cars just like that too, and that he was learning how to work on cars. He said he wanted to work on cars. He let me hold his car. Knowing how territorial My Boy was at that age with his cars, I felt honored.
His mother watched us, amused by our exchange. When I stood up, the little boy took off. I handed his mother the little toy and waved good-bye, thanking him for showing me his car.
As I walked one way, he and his mother went the other. I heard a little voice calling, ‘Mom can I have my car back, Mom can I have my car back, Mom can I have my car back, Mom can I have my car back…”
I smiled and thought, little boys never really change, no matter how big they get.