It isn’t always funny

On good days, Oakley and his antics keep us hopping and laughing. Not all days are good though. Sometimes they are really hard.

Oakley is now 15 years old. I am waiting to pick him up from his YMCA swim team practice on a dark, rainy November evening. I am surprising him with a ride rather than his expected walk through town to the ferry terminal because it is so gross outside. Sometimes, I feel like I live in this van, right here, on this grimy upholstered seat amidst a patina of dog hair, food crumbs, coffee stains, and unidentifiable sandy grit.

The clock on the dash reads 7:15. I am plenty early and I have a few minutes before he should come strolling out of the building. The wipers sweep incessantly across the window shield and the car radio drones on playing a song that I have heard far too many times. “Different is good.” is the radio stations tagline. Nothing different here, nothing.

7:20–a slight premonition begins to prickle my skin. I ignore it and take out my phone. Nobody has texted me, no new emails either. How about some Candy Crush? Level 254. How did this happen to me? By day I run a private practice counseling service. It is a good gig, business is booming, but sometimes I feel like a fraud. My whole therapeutic approach boils down to the following: Follow your values, commit to actions that support them and you can get through anything.
Level 254? What the hell. What a waste.

7:25–That prickly sensation has grown. It is morphing into a thought. Here I sit, waiting. For what?

7:30–Suddenly, I am sure that I am waiting for nothing. Oakley is not in the Y. I know this as sure as I know that the sun has set. He isn’t late yet, but I am certain. I pull out of the drop-off/pick up spot and onto the road. Commuter traffic clogs the way and the radio and the wipers begin to rattle me. “Where is Oakley?” I have lost him again. Dammit.

7:35–I make my way slowly across town to the ferry terminal where Oakley would have walked after practice to catch a boat to our island home. The boat doesn’t leave for nearly another 45 minutes. He shouldn’t be there yet, he should still be in that pool. I feel a rising anger. The little brat. I have spent the last 15 years chasing him. I should have known to never let my guard down. He never went to swim practice;I know this. He has been lying to me all week. I am sure. Where has he been? The fury begins to boil inside me.

7:40–I pull up to the terminal and peer out into the darkness searching for him. It doesn’t take me long to see him. He is standing out on the city pier in the rain, hood up, sneakers scuffing at the pavement, down jacket soaked through. What is he doing? What is he waiting for? I jump out of the car and holler. “Oakley! What do you think you are doing?!” He spins towards me with a look of fear on his face, We have been through this drill countless times. I can see the lies and excuses zipping across his brow from here, but he knows he is busted. He walks over to me, bracing himself for the bollicking he is about to receive.

“You weren’t at swimming!” I spit. He squirms and shifts his eyes about. “I can’t do this anymore Oakley! Where were you? Why do you do these things? Why can’t you be honest? Why can’t I trust you?” The full tirade of ineffectual nonsense flows from my mouth. My cheeks are flushed. Oakley just stares at the ground. He has heard it all before. Too many times.

But, even in this moment, I am aware that this is not entirely his fault. He has been running away since the day his feet hit the ground. He needs more stimulation, more variety, more intensity than most. It isn’t that he doesn’t like swimming, it is just that he is always looking for more. The routine of everyday mainstream has never been enough for him, and right now, it doesn’t feel like it is enough for me either. We are chafing at our bits.
It is time for a change. I love life, I love my family, I love the blue sky and I love this planet. So does Oakley. I am suddenly acutely aware that our lifelong pattern of him running and me chasing is getting us nowhere. The stakes are too high. I am afraid that one day, I might not be able to catch him.