Monday, August 01, 2011
I’m just going to be really honest here.
I’m not very brave. I wish I was braver. I really do. Bravery is especially lacking when it comes to anything involving hurtling through space. Skiing especially comes to mind. But also riding on a motorcycle and even driving at night. There’s just something about the fact that I could get flung to neverland at any moment that doesn’t sit well with me. I can strap myself in and ride a rollercoaster until the cows come home. But put me on an inflatable tube behind a speeding boat and I’m gonna squirm.
My children, thankfully…or maybe not, I’ll let you know when we survive the teenage years…didn’t inherit this from me. I think I’ve mentioned before that it’s Mr. G’s job to make them brave. And he’s doing fine work. They love to tube and ski and otherwise put themselves in harms way in the name of fun. And somehow, when it comes to watersports, I’m always the responsible adult who has to get dragged around the lake with them. That makes no sense, does it?
There must be something about the look on my face or my white knuckled grip that makes Sweet Pea a philosopher when we’re tubing. Maybe she figures she better ask me questions about life and death while she still has a chance. Or maybe she thinks my guard will be down and I’ll tell her some secret that she’s not old enough to hear yet. Who knows? But for whatever reason, whenever we’re whipping around the lake at mach speed she asks me deep questions.
Last night she hollered at her dad to speed up, made a motion that indicated she would like him to try his best to give us whiplash, and then said to me, “Mom…what is the future?”
Uh…that thing that’s getting cut short right now.
I was stumbling through an answer, shouting over the noise of the boat when Will looks over at me and says with a sly smile…”Watch out Mom! THE FUTURE IS COMING!”