Letting Go

I have rather unusual teenage son.

A few years ago he began to collect items for his own Glory Box. So far he has a sandwich press, a kettle, a couch, a stereo system, a projector, tea light candles and whiskey tumblers.

I’ve heard innumerable times that teenagers’ bedrooms are notorious for accumulating dishes. I have the opposite problem. I rarely have to ask my beautiful son to return used dishes to the kitchen, but I do find myself nagging him to return them to his bedroom after they’ve been cleaned. (He also hasn’t quite managed the art of placing used dishes in the dishwasher, instead leaving them on the bench that is less than a metre away from it.)

This morning, during my beautiful son’s absence, I took my life into my hands and embarked upon a mission to return the latest collection of his glasses to their rightful spot. His bedroom contains a veritable obstacle course of items collected from annual hard rubbish collections and op shops. In pride of place though is the desk and connecting book shelves that his Grandad lovingly constructed for him several years ago out of old furniture and other scraps.

Once I had navigated the way to the desk with only one near-miss break of the neck, I discovered that none of its four drawers contain desk-like items of any kind.

The top drawer is full of CDs and DVDs. The second drawer if full of his drinking glasses. The third drawer is stuffed to the brim with cables for who-knows-what devices, and the fourth drawer is full of randomness. Above them the desk is covered in all things computer. There is no space for a sheet of paper and no writing implements in any plain sight.

As I rewound the manoeuvres that had taken me unsteadily to his desk, and arrived safely back in the kitchen, I thought a little sadly that the desk’s appearance and use were not as I had envisioned when he was a small boy.

You see, his desk was not the first that his Grandad had made. Some 45 years ago he had created similar setups for each of his dearly loved children, myself included. In those days, home computers did not exist. In fact, the only screens that did exist in homes were televisions, and our family had chosen not to own such an item.

I kept my own childhood desk meticulously tidy and clean. There was a place for everything and everything was kept in its place. (Sadly, I am unable to claim the same for the desks of my adult years!) I faithfully completed all of my study and homework there, and even read stories to my various teddy bears from my pretend teacher chair.

My beautiful son completes his homework in bed.

His desk is used though, to create amazing music which is gaining some attention from “the cloud”.

I realise that we’re in a different era from when I was a child and that what I know to have been idyllic in those days is difficult to replicate in today’s world of technological dependence. I understand that I need to let go of the desire for my beautiful son to enjoy the same use of his desk that I did of my own all those years ago.

There is one thing though that hasn’t changed: Throughout future generations there will always be a dedicated and creative Gradad who lovingly builds a desk or two for his much loved grandchildren. And there will always be a grandchild or two who will be ever grateful and cherish the gift, regardless of how it is used.

Also, there will always be a teenager who doesn’t quite complete the task of returning dishes to their rightful place. And most importantly, my beautiful son will always be beautiful.

To clarify: My beautiful son doesn’t drink alcohol. He uses the whiskey tumblers to serve soft drink to visiting friends.