The previous day we had not yet backed out of the driveway when he remembered that he had forgotten his tools, so he was getting worse. He was a waiter. Did I mention that, as had happened countless times before, he did not have time to brush his teeth?.
Where had my precious son gone? What happened to the 10-year-old musician who stood on tables in coffee shops and played "Johnny Be Good- on his guitar or who played the national anthem, Jimmy Hendrix style, at the opening ceremony of Little League? What happened to the 6-year-old who played Scott Joplin tunes on the piano? What happened to the student and scholar? What happened to the pitcher who once pitched six innings of relief that beat the Los Altos team for the first time? Where did the thirty thousand dollar private prep school education go? Where did the young lad, so witty and full of life, go? And by the way, did I ask how he managed to go through four cars in two years? Where was that big, black hole that apparently swallowed my son and coughed up a belligerent, rebellious, sulking and angry young man who had just been asked to leave UC Davis after his first year? A 1.67 grade point after the first year will usually produce this kind of request. I want a piece of that hole's ass!.
The new kid on the block listens to angry music that sounds like constant scratching on a rough surface. This new kid has a tattoo, a recently departed lip ring, weird hair, and hangs around mosh pits. The parents of this new kid were informed approximately a year ago that their precious son had suffered a brain aneurism, was in a coma, and was probably going to die. Fortunately, this diagnosis was made by a police officer and not a doctor. My precious son had simply overdosed on a new designer drug call GHB and would be alright. What was the forty-five minute ride to the hospital like for me? I hope nobody ever experiences the emotions I felt.
