Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Heir (twenty) I

It's one of those rituals that a mother may not attend -- a 21st birthday.

Saturday the family will trot out for a BBQ in Heir I's honor and we'll offer him a legal beer or something. But today is for him and his friends.

Of course we've talked. Don't be stupid, we said. Use your head, we said. Realize the head you use when you've drunk enough is not the head to use, we said. Call us, we said. Call a cab, we said. Designate a driver who will not drink all evening, we said.

All the time we are saying this, we know that, in the end, it's only good character and a deep-set sense of responsibility that will prevent him from becoming a danger to himself and others behind the wheel of a car.

So I've stopped saying anything and I will rest easy.

Happy Birthday, Charley*. I'm so proud of the adult you have become.

*You will notice I did not once call you...oops! I almost said it. You'd really be mad at me then, huh? You know. if I slipped and called you...oops! There I go again...


Gwynne said...

I've got a 20 year-old I'd trade you for Charley.

Just thought I'd throw that out there. You never know unless you ask. ;-)

Trasherati said...

Hell, I've got a 10-year old I'll trade for Charley. And Salt.
But I'll include a geriatric cat for free.
(Happy B'day Charlie!)

Sisiggy said...

I think it's only fair to warn you both: His drink request for his party on Saturday is White Russians. What does that tell you about who his "hero" is? He even has the bathrobe and a rug at "really ties the room together." (The Big Lebowski, in case you didn't get the reference...)

Gwynne: Sorry -- I only raise boys. There is a reason God gave me boys -- He knew I'd kill any girl when she turned 13.

Trasherati: You can have Salt for nothin'. We have to keep him on total lock down because he pees on everything inside and slips through the fence outside (always come back though, the little twerp). Believe me, if we didn't think it was a dirty trick to pull on someone, we would have sent him packing when we moved here.

We're sending Charley your way -- complete with bathrobe.

And I'm already running a feline old age home. But thanks for the offer. What do I get for Dirtman?