Guitar Hero

Day 86: Guitar Hero and Other Childish Video Games

Sam is 16 today, poised and ready to rush down to the Secretary of State, get his driver's license, and hit the open road. Things aren't shaping up quite as he had hoped. Instead of cruising in his mother's brand new mid-life crisis Fusion (first new car in 15 years!), he'll be relegated to the beat-up RAV4 with 16 bumper stickers, 140k miles and a broken auxiliary connector. Which means he can't play his own tunes. He'll be stuck with the radio, just like his grandparents were back in the day. Though a radio in the car back in his grandparents' day was an exciting innovation.

Teenage years have done their work even on my cheerful, affectionate Sam. He asks, what's the point of school? Is science more true than religion? What does it mean to be good? What is God? And, why shouldn't I aspire to a Bentley? He writes poetry for English class, but won't let his mother read it.

No longer does he sit in a bathtub filled with bubbles and plastic farm animals, making them talk to each other in various voices while we outside are amused and comforted by the stream of sound. No more Guitar Hero; now he plays a real guitar with some measure of competence. No more Hotwheels; he is onto real wheels. 

No more rocking him to sleep, no more pallet on the floor, no more crawling into my lap for morning cuddling. I am, however, still the grateful recipient of daily pats, mashings (where he sits on me and crushes me with his still-slight weight) and hugs. He even lets me kiss the side of his head sometimes.

Happy birthday, beloved boy.