Good Friends

A small, insignificant parental disappointment of mine is that not one of my children like jam or jelly of any flavor. I don’t know the difference between jelly, jam, preserves or marmalade, but I love it all, especially raspberry, blackberry, peach or strawberry.

A more serious parental lamentation is that adolescence seems to have robbed me of friendships with my children that flourished when they were younger, especially with my son. We shared so many little inside jokes and either one could make the other giggle with only the slightest provocation. One day eight years ago, we were seated in adjacent chairs getting our hair cut and I made a gesture to get him. He giggled and giggled, and kept telling me to stop, with his slight but endearing lisp.

I understand that children mature, and that relationships change, they have to, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Also, although I don’t like to admit it, I believe that part of the alienation results from some of the symptoms of my illness. Energy levels and patience have both declined precipitously and I am not as light-hearted and fun as I once was. I am trying to address these issues.

This morning I enjoyed a brief respite. I was taking Ryan to driving school, and because we were running a few minutes late, neither of us had eaten breakfast. I offered to buy him a donut at the shop that is next to the driving school. Because we were already late, he declined. I offered to get it for him and bring it to him. He declined the offer, explaining that they would be leaving in the training car as soon as we arrived.

Letting playful Dave out for just a moment, I asked, “Can I get one for you anyway, but just eat it myself?” He didn’t miss a beat and replied, “Sure. I’ll have a jelly-filled.”