Looking Down From Eagle Rock

Gorgeous day yesterday, gorgeous day today. In this part of the world you understand that daffodils are really wild flowers…

Had a really interesting, contemplative, far-ranging conversation with RTT last night. It went on for hours. In fact, the conversation was so interesting, contemplative and far-ranging, I had to wonder whether he wasn’t stoned on something, Ecstasy or another member of the pharmacological pantheon whose high is an eagle rock from which you see your whole life spread out before you.

After the SAT diagnostic, he’d gone off to Second Dam with the posse. So I suppose it’s possible he could have dosed.

No, I didn’t bring up my suspicions with RTT. If they weren't true, the fact that I'd entertained them at all would have been offensive. If they were true, he was safe under my watchful gaze. I kept slipping him glasses of fizzy water just in case: Dehydration is the Big Bad with Ecstasy.

“You know, if I had to critique yours and Dad’s parenting, I’d have one main complaint about it,” RTT said. “You didn’t say no often enough.”

“That was your father,” I said. “I know this is gonna sound like I’m bitter and pointing the finger at your Dad: He did it! But actually, you know, I wasn’t your primary caretaker when you were very small. Your Dad was. We’d reversed the traditional roles: He stayed home, took care of you; I brought home the bacon.

“I used to tell your Dad: Robin needs consistency. He needs a nightly ritual: bath, story, bed. When you tell him, No, he needs to know that No doesn’t mean, ‘Time to whine, pout and cry for ten minutes so No will change to Yes. I mean, we used to have big arguments about it, your Dad and I. But when you were six, seven, I was working for ICM; I spent half my time in San Francisco and the other half of my time in LA. I wasn’t around enough to be a consistent parenting presence myself.

“In some ways, that’s the difference between your personality and Max’s personality: I was very hands on with Max; I got to try out all my child rearing theories on him. I’ve always figured the world is a scary place for a kid, scary because it’s so unpredictable. Saying no, setting up routines is a way of making the world more predictable and so less scary. But I didn’t actually do very much of the child rearing with you.”

Robin nodded slowly. He seemed bemused. “The problem I’m having with all this college stuff is I just don’t know what I want to doing, you know? I ask myself that question and I draw a complete blank. In fact, I ask myself what I like to do and I couldn’t even tell you.”

“Well, honey, by the time you were six, seven, Internet-mediated communication technologies had slipped seamlessly into your life. In a sense they’ve always been there for you. And that’s a mixed blessing at best. I mean, there’s always entertainment for you to watch, but watching something reduces you to the role of perpetual voyeur, you know? It's a completely passive exercise. You don’t have hobbies. When I was 16, your age, I had hobbies.”

“What were your hobbies?”

“I made jewelry. I don’t mean silver and gold jewelry. I had a bead loom, and I would weave these incredibly complex, tapestry-like things. And I was very into drama, I was always trying out for and being cast in plays. And I liked to draw. And I was totally into my bicycle – I was just about your age when I started racing.”

“I don’t do anything like that.”

“No. You don’t. I blame the Internet. And video games.”

“I think it was a mistake for me to leave the International School. Wasn’t it? A mistake.”

“I think you made the wrong decision,” I said. “Your father came down on me very hard over it: You should have forced him to stay! But the thing was I couldn’t force you to stay. Nobody’s ever been able to get you to do something you didn’t want to do. It was the wrong decision, but I figured there would come a moment some time in the future when you would see that it was a wrong decision. And you do, right?"

“I do, right,” he said softly. “I should have stayed at ISM.”

“Leaving ISM is what I call an irretrievable decision,” I said. “Something there’s no going back from. Something that decreased the number of options available to you. As a parent, I’ve always seen an important part of my job as trying to keep you and Max from making irretrievable decisions. But better you should make them at 12 than at 16.”

“Why?”
“There’s something about being 16. It’s a very stubborn age. The bad decisions you make now are bad decisions you’ll defend for the rest of your life. But 12… See? Already you can look at it and say, Why didn’t I do that differently? So you’ve learned from the bad decision. And really, that’s the best we can do. We all make bad decisions. The thing is not to repeat them.”

“Why don’t we have talks like this more often?” he asked.

I laughed. "I'd love to! But I have to leave it to you to initiate them."

“Why?”

"Rewind our conversation back a few sentences. Nobody's ever been able to get you to do something you didn't want to do."

RTT nodded thoughtfully. "You're right."