The Son Waketh the Father

One of these cheap plastic figurines must be Buzz Aldrin.There are three of them standing on this tacky gold plastic pedestal, positioned around a starched American flag. The detachable figurines are fairly large, like a box of crackers. I pulled it off the stand and turned it around to see if the name of the astronaut was written on the back. It wasn’t. As I started to turn it upside down, thinking the name of the astronaut might be indicated on the soles of his moon boots, the figurine suddenly spoke to me, repeating the word, “Dad. Dad.”

I opened my eyes to find Tristan standing over me, dressed and ready for school. I had forgotten to adjust the setting on my alarm clock! As is customary, it took me a few moments to clear my groggy and groaning head. The clock read 6:42 this morning. I got dressed, got in the car and drove him to his destination on-time.

Neither of us are morning people. Susan is a morning person. Wheeeee! “The earlier, the better,” she likes to chirp.

Tristan is a night owl, like me. Mornings are just a mistake.

I’m doing the late newscast right now, which means I’m off the air at 11:30 at night. Depending on how many hellishly stupid detours inconsiderate roadworkers throw at me each night, I can usually make it home around 12:30. Falling to sleep after the shift and the drive, can take a while; there’s much unwinding to be done.

In order to get Tristan to school on-time, I’m supposed to wake-up at 6:30 am.

Bleh.

Every single morning, all through high school, I’ve been the one to get him out of bed! He didn’t set alarms, it was my job; the father waketh the son. I’d call out his name every few minutes, each time more sternly, until finally, utterly exasperated, I’d be forced to fling his mattress into the air!

Once woken, inevitably and unfailingly, he’d trudge around the house snarling like a ravenous jungle cat listening to the familiar sounds of the zookeeper preparing food. It’s usually wiser not to interact with the ornery beast, but there are limits to the rudeness I will tolerate.

Now in his graduating year, for the first time, he’s using an alarm clock! I can’t decide whether I’ve been demoted, or promoted. Of course, if it gives me a few extra minutes of sleep, I’m good with it. These days, it’s especially important that I set my alarm correctly on Tuesday mornings because Tristan is up late Monday night, watching one of our favorite shows, “Hawaii Five-O”.

Last Tuesday, he slept through his alarm and I was there to get him up on-time. Today he was there to get me up on-time. Alas, he’s nobly taken up the shield of responsibility. Yawn; the circle is complete.

Was that Buzz in my hand? Only Freud knows for sure.