growing up

Seven weeks passed since Adam's first day at Ecole Bilinge.  He came back with a report card half in French half in English, a big smile signaling the beginning of his two weeks vacation, and of course, a few good stories about the last day at school which was all about... food.  

It was quite humbling to ask his help to decipher the French half of his report card.  

As much as we all adore his teacher, Madam Gros, her hand writing is ilegible.  With Adam's help we understood that she is very happy with Adam performance this year except his unacceptable hand writing.

That evening we went to an Indian restaurant to celebrate the end of Adam's semester, my last Dr check up and the start of our first vacation.  When Pete and I asked Adam about his messy hand writing he reassured us that it really doesn't matter for his generation since they communicate almost entirely through typing and even this is soon to be changed to oral dictation, and then in no time to thoughts recording.  "Really" he said calmly, "you don't need to worry about it." 

 

Before we regained our balance to make an argument he continues with the same matter of fact manner and asks: "Can we stay here one more year?"

Well, I guess we just got an A from Adam for our last semester -- and he is not an easy grader.

More than this ever-surprising city, the delicious food, and the beautiful language I think what makes this year so wonderful for Adam is the simple fact that Wednesdays are off.

God gave us the Sabbath and the French gave us the Wednesdays.  It wasn't easy to stay away from all the wonderful enhancement classes in art, crafts, music, theater and sport offered on Wednesdays.  We kept it free, mostly thanks to Lorelei's suggestion, as a day to recover and connect -- a day free of plans -- a base for spontaneous urges.

I don't know how I will go back to not having this fueling station in the middle of the week. How would I give up sitting in a cafe with a good book watching Adam drinking his hot chocolate buried in "Charlie Bone," "The Lord of the Flies" or "The Lightening Thief." 

This year, I got to know my own son in ways I never did before and I think that Adam got to see that I function beyond cooking, cleaning, getting ready, working or doing errands.  

Last Wednesday, we went together to the Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers -- a museum for technology and the history of science which left to my own devices, I would never visit.  We stayed there almost for four hours -- fascinated, yet able to take only a small fraction of what it had to offer.

During lunch in the Cafeteria, we discussed "speed," something Adam always was captivated by and his interest always puzzled me.  He told me that speed is a relationship between two things: distance and time.  I told him he just wrote a poem and he thought it was very funny of me to think that.  So, that is how we get to know each-other in our Wednesday's escapades. 

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This morning I heard the piano early in Adam's room.  On my tiptoes I got into his bed and listen to him for a while.  He continued to practice his Jazz scales as I examined the details decoration of the cieling.  Pete left for work, aunt Cindy was still sleeping in the living room, a vacation day with no agenda and no plans.  What would become of this day?  The warmth of his bed, the ragtime blues that fills the room and the soft light of a winter day in Paris filled up the "now".  

I reach to Adam's nightstand and grab his book "Akimbo and the Elephants."  Adam improvised on a minor scale as I sank into the innocent sadness of a boy who discovers that people kill elephants only to sell their tusks.   Adam noticed my tears and told me he is going to switch to major chords to cheer me up, and confides that he also cried when the baby elephant found his mother shot dead by the poachers and trumpeted his heart breaking cry. 

I am thinking of the conversation with my friend Taly from last night who described her moving speech at her daughter's Bat mitzvah.  She compared the parents to Noah who released the dove three times. The first time, the dove quickly comes back, the second time it comes back with an olive branch and the third time it does not return.  

When I step out of the present and think about what will change, when I watch Adam growing in front of my eyes, I feel an acute sense of loss  -- but the loss wouldn't be so grand if these moments weren't so sweet.