Reverse Peter Pan Complex

Stupid camera phone...doesn't capture all the awesomeness.

So, simple question this time around. I know the unoriginality of asking sad questions veiled within nostalgia screams with queries like this. But I think this one has a tinge of variety. Question coming presently.

Four nephews, zero nieces. Somebody buy me a lotto ticket. The oldest nephew was mitzvah-ed this past weekend. B-don was literally The Man. He commanded the service Saturday evening and was the toast of the town as the night waned on. The event was memorable (to say the least). For focus on this current storyline, we won't go on about how extravagant the event really was. We will just say...it was memorable...which is a very good thing. More than welcome to ask that question offline.

A party is only as good as the aftermath (see last post "The Issue of Parties"). My brother-in-law's house looked like Jonestown after they drank the Kool-Aid, but the body count was only six boys after a post-party to the party. As the bagels and whitefish was served during breakfast, a grizzled B-don sat up--hazy-eyed but knowing he was still hosting his weekend.

As Dr. John and Dr. Les hung out with B-don and myself near the pool eating breakfast, we assessed the damage...which was a thirteen year old that was sneaking Jack on the rocks when I was dancing. Even though he knew that was a bad idea, the kid had his head completely on straight.

I'm not sure how we got on to the subject of B-don's future, but we got there in a hurry. Discussions of how organic chemistry and applied human anatomy sucked as college courses was the backdrop. The Man said he wanted to be an environmental engineer. Kudos, it's a growth industry. He knows what he wants in life WHEN HE IS THIRTEEN!

So, the cheesy, nostalgic question: what the hell was at the top of your mind when you were thirteen? I can only tell personally, it's wasn't honing my skills for my future employ with DuPont's Green Initiative. Fuck. At thirteen I could barely dress myself, let alone plan for my next thirty years. I was getting the shit kicked out of me in The Valley (no, not that Valley...the Rio Grande Valley) trying to remember my locker combination, resenting the fact that my dad moved us from San Antonio to Los Fresnos. Los Fresnos! I will buy everyone a beer if someone can tell me where that's located.

I'm certain every life story is different. But it's amazing how a thirteen year old figures it out so quickly. Almost makes you think that you are the next in the herd to be thinned out. So, I was a kid at thirteen getting roughed up like other kids. But I still want to be rough and tumble within my search for professional satisfaction. Our boy B-don has the opposite, chilling effect. He can't wait to grow up and rock the eco-friendly Cashbah. Who knows; maybe he already has the girl he wants to marry lined up. Maybe he knows where he wants to live. Maybe he knows what classic car he wants to buy so he can rebuilt it and brag to his buddies, "Hey, you see that PT Cruiser in the garage...yeah, I restored it..."

I can't wait to see this kid un-grow-up.

B-don, if there is one person that can pull off the Reverse Peter Pan (not the dance move)...it has to be you. But no pressure. Growing up is a process. Believe me, I'm blogging about it right now. Much love to you and the fam. You did the whole clan proud. Mazel Tov.

Now, on to more stuff that I learned other than Hebrew...

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) People in South Florida don't know how to park. It's not a big deal, really, because the whole state compensates with larger parking spots for all cars. Highest accident rate in all the union. Awesome.
2) The more I complain about flying and airports, the more I psyche myself out. This trip was cake with extra frosting. I'm glad The Lovely is around for these trips, though...it does help.
3) I have to quit spoiling my Lessons Learned on Twitter. If I blurt out everything I know and learn instantaneously, then what the hell am I going to write about?
BONUS: Maybe getting out of Corpus during Beach to Bay is not a bad idea...

Special thanks to Mom (not Mama, but I always love to thank Mama for everything), Jon Gregory and Robin for their Southern Florida hospitality (you can take the Texans out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the Texans) and the boys, B-don and Ry-ry. Love to all of the extended side of The Lovely's side. I love meeting new cousins. Next blog...Operation Homebody.