I see beyond the road I'm driving, far away and left behind

Last night your Mom and I went to her 20-year high school reunion. Being six and two, you guys don't yet understand the magnitude of a 20-year timeframe. Don't worry...the first years of your life feel like they are going at a crawl. Enjoy them now. You hit a point where the rollercoaster of life reaches its apex and from then on it moves at warp speed leaving you screaming and nauseous. But once again...I digress.

We had a great time together. We sang along to Boston on the radio on the way down and your Mom told me to turn right when she meant left about fifteen times.

I had it easy. Since I didn't know anyone, I didn't have any expectations to live up to. Nobody to compare me to my high-school self. Your mom had to put herself out there for all that. Was anyone thinking... “Boy, she's aged” (she hasn't); “She's packed on a few pounds” (negative, she's a willow); “Look at the loser she married” (c'mon...just look at me).

She came through with shining colors. It was fun to hear old stories about her and the way she was back then. My favorite line was when a guy told her that he remembered she “played soccer like a boy”. Meaning she goes hard or goes home. That's your mama. Someone who can kick like a boy but still makes you say “Wow” when you see her in a cocktail dress after eight years.

It's interesting to see how people change over the years, for the better or for the worse. People that you were in awe of during your high school years age just like the rest of us. It's not what you've got...it's what you do with it.

Sometimes going back can show you just how far you've come.

Headline from "Don't Look Back" by Boston, 1978

You had to have the last word last night... You know what everything's about

Well, my soon to be sixteen six year-old was at it again last night. I told him he could watch TV for five more minutes before bed and as I'm accustomed to do... 5 minutes slipped into thirty. As we started upstairs he asked me, “Are we gonna read a story?” “Not tonight buddy” I replied, “It's late.” He responds by saying, and I quote... “You know, you said I could watch TV for five minutes and then you let me watch for a long time. While I do appreciate that, storytime is very important to me.” Oh, good God.

So then, we're lying in bed and discussing Star Wars which he watched earlier in the day while home sick. He's describing his favorite part in great detail (the trash compactor scene) and I jump in with a comment. He looks at me and says, “Are you telling the story or am I?”

When this kid hits his teens, I am so screwed.

Headline from "Big Shot" by Billy Joel, 1979