Yesterday my little peanut turned 21. This is a birthday most young men look forward to. The day they can finally tie one on…legally. It’s also a day most mother’s dread. Recruiting his girlfriend Monica to be the designated driver for him and a couple more friends they made plans to hit the bars Friday night.
I told my mother I wanted to make this a memorable evening for him. And how was I going to do that? I wanted to cook a birthday dinner that would be disgusting coming back up after a few too many. What to make…tacos? Lasagna? “Spaghetti” my mother said. From personal experience from just such an occasion in her youth, she knew this one would be bad. I’m evil, but I’m not that evil. I gave Tyler the choice. And what did he pick? Tacos!
With Monica the designated driver and me the babysitter, we wished them a good time and to drive safely. We did want him to enjoy himself, but I was not enjoying myself at home. I was not looking forward to Tyler coming home. No mother wants to see their innocent little baby smashed off their ass drunk, and I was certainly dreading it.
At about twenty after twelve I heard the heavy footsteps of someone coming up the steps. They were home. Tyler walked in the house muttering. He kept repeating how stupid he was. He knew he was rotten drunk and he was already regretting it. After telling Monica and myself he loved us several times, he headed to his bedroom bouncing off each wall on the way there. When I heard the bed creak as he settled in I breathed a sigh of relief. That rite of passage was finally over.