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| Hagar, Pinky and Meggles |
Last night we took Hagar and his adorably petite and sweet girlfriend Meggles, out to dinner for Hagar’s twentieth birthday. I sat across the table from him admiring his handsome appearance, thinking about how he finally seems to be growing up.
Gosh, I only had to slap his hand once the whole night when I caught him playing with the steak knife whilst waiting for dinner to arrive.
After all the grief, worry and trauma that boy has put me through during the last nineteen years I could finally recognise and appreciate some primary indication of common sense.
For examples of these traumatic experiences please read …here and …here and …here!... just for starters.
We sat merrily at the table, laughing at family stories and about how Hagar and Meggles, even though they’ve only been going out for eighteen months, first met at preschool and shared their first kiss in the sandpit aged five.
The evening progressed swimmingly until Hagar began shifting uncomfortably in his seat and I just knew something was up.
“Mum…” he muttered. “I’ve got to tell you something.”
Alarm bells began to resonate. What is it this time? My frightened mind began to sift through the possibilities.
Meggles is pregnant? Hagar’s quitting his apprenticeship? He’s lost his driver’s licence (again)? He and Meggles are engaged? He owes the Casino a sh#t load of money? He was involved in a hit and run and he was the run? There are hired guns after him? He’s moving out? ( now that wouldn’t be so bad… I could turn his room into an office for Pinky Poinker… after I get to it with a pressure cleaner of course…)
“What is it Hagar?” I enquired as tranquilly as possible in the circumstances.
“Weeeeeell…” he drawled slowly, “On Saturday I’m going skydiving.”
The room went black. Millions of sparkly stars floated across the darkness that was my field of vision. I desperately fought back the hyperventilation I knew would inevitably lead to a full blown panic attack.
The last time Hagar threatened to try skydiving was when he turned eighteen.
“You can’t stop me Mum! I’m an adult now!” he declared, as I clung to his ankles like a clamp limpet.
Fortunately his proclivity towards wayward behaviour meant he had such a lengthy rap sheet of fines to pay he couldn’t afford the required four hundred bucks to jump out of a plane with a piece of silk tied to his back.
Two years later he has managed to scrape up the funds.
Oh well… I guess Pinky will have to drive down to the beach on Saturday; with her Rosary beads entwined tightly around her fingers, self-flagellating and wailing out Hail Marys, to bravely watch her son hurtle perilously from a plane and float down to the ground.
I just hope I’m not crazed enough to run underneath him as he lands on the beach and try to catch him.
For examples of these traumatic experiences please read …here and …here and …here!... just for starters.
We sat merrily at the table, laughing at family stories and about how Hagar and Meggles, even though they’ve only been going out for eighteen months, first met at preschool and shared their first kiss in the sandpit aged five.
The evening progressed swimmingly until Hagar began shifting uncomfortably in his seat and I just knew something was up.
“Mum…” he muttered. “I’ve got to tell you something.”
Alarm bells began to resonate. What is it this time? My frightened mind began to sift through the possibilities.
Meggles is pregnant? Hagar’s quitting his apprenticeship? He’s lost his driver’s licence (again)? He and Meggles are engaged? He owes the Casino a sh#t load of money? He was involved in a hit and run and he was the run? There are hired guns after him? He’s moving out? ( now that wouldn’t be so bad… I could turn his room into an office for Pinky Poinker… after I get to it with a pressure cleaner of course…)
“What is it Hagar?” I enquired as tranquilly as possible in the circumstances.
“Weeeeeell…” he drawled slowly, “On Saturday I’m going skydiving.”
The room went black. Millions of sparkly stars floated across the darkness that was my field of vision. I desperately fought back the hyperventilation I knew would inevitably lead to a full blown panic attack.
The last time Hagar threatened to try skydiving was when he turned eighteen.
“You can’t stop me Mum! I’m an adult now!” he declared, as I clung to his ankles like a clamp limpet.
Fortunately his proclivity towards wayward behaviour meant he had such a lengthy rap sheet of fines to pay he couldn’t afford the required four hundred bucks to jump out of a plane with a piece of silk tied to his back.
Two years later he has managed to scrape up the funds.
Oh well… I guess Pinky will have to drive down to the beach on Saturday; with her Rosary beads entwined tightly around her fingers, self-flagellating and wailing out Hail Marys, to bravely watch her son hurtle perilously from a plane and float down to the ground.
I just hope I’m not crazed enough to run underneath him as he lands on the beach and try to catch him.
