A LITTLE NERVOUS

As you may or may not remember, I did not get to watch my son graduate from High School.

He did graduate. I mean, he got all his credits, completed his classes and received a diploma. But he didn't walk in the ceremony because he was supposed to be at boot camp but then he got sent home due to a paper work error and we had no cap and gown, no announcements, no cake, no party planned.

Nothing.
Nada.
Nil.
Zilch.

So, much to Blake's delight, his completion of high school went virtually unnoticed.

Not so with his completion of boot camp.

And therein lies the problem.

Blake does not like parties at which he is the guest of honor.

HE. DOES. NOT. LIKE. THEM. ONE. BIT.

He told me this week they make him feel like a zoo animal on display.

Now as much as I respect his reserved nature, IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT HIM.

IS IT?

That is why today I am having a Welcome Home From Boot Camp Party for him.

And he is so disappointed.

Not only is there that discomfort of being the center of attention, but he found out that he could be going on a poolee function with his recruiter. A really good poolee function where he was going to get to wear his cammies, carry his pack and hike all day while potential recruits learn what's in store for them. He was going to get to be a real Marine.

And I'm making him stay home to greet family and friends, eat some cake and a few snacks and miss all the real fun.

*sigh*

I keep telling myself that I should not be frightened by the fact that in the last week I've heard hi say things like "Bam! Elbow to the temple!" and "I got to box twice in the crucible because I won my first round!" I keep trying to wipe from my memory the letter in which he wrote that he now knows how to sever limbs with a knife. I am trying to ignore the fact that he spent a day or two playing with telephone poles like he used to play with Lincoln logs. And the bulging biceps and forearms? I'm trying not to focus on those.

For surely, SURELY he would use none of these against his mother simply because I wouldn't let him go play in the mud today. SURELY he knows that motherhood is an American institution that is to be honored - like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie. SURELY the two peanut butter crunch cakes he's inhaled since he's been home count for something - and the daily letters I wrote him through boot camp as well.

SURELY I have enough going for me that this one little, itty bitty, slight will protect me from my one big bad Marine who wants to go out and play war games but is being made to sit in clean clothes and visit friends and relatives.

Right? RIIIIGHT?

And if all that counts for nothing, I think my stink eye is still quite effective, even on him.