I’m so happy my youngest son lives in filth and squalor.
Last Sunday I went to visit his college campus, to bring him some groceries and see the new house that he shares with five roommates. All I knew going in was that he lives in one of the “lacrosse houses” right off campus, and he needed provisions.
I pulled up to a dilapidated house with an overgrown lawn, and while I’m no Pollyanna, I was still shocked at its condition.
“This can’t be it,” I said to Google Maps Lady, as I peered toward the property.
“Fuck yes, it is,” Google Maps lady replied, with a trace of superior satisfaction.
Egads. And I had arrived just in time to witness a conversation one of the boys was having with two older pissed-off looking men. All I heard was the tail end.
“It’s up to you guys,” one man said, getting in his truck. “The city is issuing tickets, so get it cleaned up.”
Hm, I thought. Get what cleaned up? The yard? The house? Their act?
This absolutely can’t be it, and as I began to text my son, there he suddenly was, standing in the doorway with his lopsided smile. All 6’1” of his cuteness, and my heart went pitter-pat, as it always does when I see my sons anywhere, even standing in our own kitchen.
I gave him a hug and asked what the altercation was about.
“I have no idea. And of course you pull up at that exact moment. We haven’t seen him since we moved in.”
The inside looked as I expected. Use your imagination. Really think about it, now. Six juniors in college, athletes. Got the image?
Yep.
There was barely enough room in the refrigerator to fit the groceries I had brought him, so we loaded some back into my car to be brought home, frozen, and brought back on my next visit. A tour of the house revealed more funk and wildness, but I was happy to see that his basement bedroom reflected his personal fastidiousness and penchant for order. Comfy bed, neatly appropriated desk, belongings stored away, posters of rap stars giving the middle finger to the photographer, and inevitable strobe lights lining the walls.
“Nice bedroom, honey,” I said. “Could double as an S&M dungeon.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind.”
“Wait until you see this,” he said, leading me to a set of six ascending stairs. “I have a door right to the backyard.”
How nice, I thought, and he opened the door to reveal another overgrown lawn, this one littered with no fewer than 6,000 red Solo cups.
“You say you didn’t know what the landlord wanted you to clean up? Perhaps the back yard?”
“Could be,” he said. “We had a mixer yesterday.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It got broken up pretty quickly, but we managed to keep it going for a few hours.”
“Who called the cops?”
“Hard to say.”
I looked up over their rusted metal fence at a very upscale apartment building that looked directly down at their house.
“Maybe the tenants of that apartment building?”
He looked up.
“I never thought of that. Could be.”
As we left the house, a young man appeared at the door.
“The backyard cleaned up?” he asked Tommy.
“No, you can get to it,” my son answered.
Seeing my confused expression, my son revealed to me that the boy was a freshman on the lacrosse team who had arrived for yard clean-up duty.
I drove home with a big grin on my face.
My youngest, the STEM genius of the family. The boy who was given such a generous scholarship package for college that he will graduate debt-free. The boy who was accepted into West Point. The boy who has made Dean’s list for four straight semesters. The boy who has always been self-motivated, self-disciplined, self-regulating and self-governing. The boy who sets his own alarm clocks, never needs reminding, does what needs to be done, and is not prone to emotion or sentiment. The boy who has never studied more than a minute in his life, because it comes so easily to him. The boy who has always said, “I can do it myself.” The boy who majors in cybersecurity and does schoolwork that we can’t even explain, much less recognize. The boy with the purest heart you’d ever want to meet.
That perfect neat boy lives in filth and squalor. He’s living his life, in his own little chaotic orderly life.
It’s all we should ever want for any of our children.