No place worth getting

We meandered through summer with neither care nor plan.

Truth be told, I felt bad about this; my apparent “unparenting.”

Plans are good I suppose if you can make or follow them. Especially good if you can change those plans quickly and without strife.

He stands by the curb, my son; waiting on the bus. He is finally scrubbed of the summer's dirt, although it will take a few days before the fair stamp on his arm, which allowed him full access to carnival rides, cracks and starts to peel. His badge of courage ... and privilege.

He is certain this year will be the best one yet. He likes his teacher. Likes the first week's lesson plan, which promised a temporary moratorium on homework and a gradual reintroduction during the forthcoming weeks. He is looking forward to learning to play an instrument. He chose trumpet.

"There's a special way you have to blow into the nozzle," he tells me with

equal parts wonder and excitement. 

I laugh. "I think the first thing you'll learn is the mouth piece is NOT called a nozzle."

He doesn't care that I laugh. Or that I correct him. Or he doesn't seem to care.

He is changing. Maturing.

More able to say what he means and to mean what he says, which has signaled his eagerness to try new things, leaving old ones behind when he's ready …

Whether I am or not.

Over the summer, he traded his martial arts whites for a flag football uniform, and somehow his body changed to match his new sport.

The skinny little kid who got off the school bus last June is gone; replaced by a square-shouldered boy, now tall and brave enough to ride every ride at least once. 

Now he lines up with a new team of boys, waiting for a ball of a different shape to fly in his direction. The new challenge: catch it and run toward a new goal line. 

"Coach calls it 'turn and burn,' don't think about it, just run with it."

It's hard for me not to think about it.

So many moving parts. So many things can go wrong. Turning off the mind and taking that first step is a daunting task. 

Having a plan helps, but it doesn't prevent a person from getting sacked ...

Or whatever term they put to the tearing off a person's flags. 

This is just a game. It's easy to reattach the colors and start again. 

They are a team now, with a good coach who will make them see opportunity in their weaknesses. If they are successful, win or lose, players will smile and thump each others' backs. They will leave happy and tired and motivated to do better next time.

That's the hope, anyway. 

The reality, of course, is not always as

lofty. Disappointment can be crushing, and crushing injuries don't heal easily. 

But that's my fear. A fear I'm trying not to project.

Of course, it's too soon to lose hope. 

He's still small, I suppose, and there is no place worth getting that has you walking in a straight line.