The first one snuck up on me as I sat down to write about the second one, so bear with me. As I opened my laptop and began to type, my son began hovering around. He said he was making oatmeal, pouring orange juice and preparing himself for camp, but I noticed his beady little eyes kept peering over my shoulder to see why I was typing a url with my name in it. He still hasn't said anything to me, because he clearly prefers to be creepy for now, and I'll certainly give him that...for now.
But it has officially occurred to me that Nyles has reached the age---or perhaps he's been at that age for a few years and the inactivity of my blog has prevented from being truly nosy--where he can search and read the things that I have written over the past 17 years. We've talked about sex, police brutality, LGBTQ issues, and so much more, so there's no subject that my wife and I cannot attempt to tackle, but damn, it hits much differently when the discussion subjects are directly related to something I did, something I wrote or some beautiful, scary combination of both.
This could be something we end up bonding over, and this could even be the type of event that inspires him considering as of yesterday, he's begun writing his own journal (in a composition book, not online, I don't think the online world is ready for his thoughts just yet). Part of me just wants to sit down with him and serve as his tour guide through my blog, but the saner, more rational part of me, thinks that he'll be just fine stumbling on it behind my back. It'll make him feel like he's temporarily getting away with something, and at the end of the day, isn't that what being an 11 year old is all about? I do believe so.
The second reality I'm dealing with is the fact that my father is in town this week and he's looking old and a bit more frail. I don't think I want to discuss that right now after all. One crisis at a time.
