When Words Come Back to Haunt You

When Words Come Back to Haunt You

“Nico?” No answer. “Nico?” “Nico, can you hear me?” I repeat. Finally, he deigns to answer: “I'm taking Uncle Phillip's advice and ignoring you.”

I realize he's really upset that I've taken him out of school early to make it to a dentist appointment. I should have known the minute he seated himself in the back row of the mini-van as far from me as possible.

“But why is he talking about his uncle?” I wonder for about a second, and then I suddenly remember.

Words can back to haunt you in strange ways, and sometimes they are the very words you would never even give a second thought.

A few days earlier I had been reading a letter to my seventeen-year-old son, Alejandro, that I'd written to his father when we were both in college. In it I was complaining that my own mother had distracted me with so many task I nearly started a kitchen fire. “My brother, Phil, told me the solution was to go upstairs where I could pretend not to hear her,” I read aloud, laughing as I folded up the letter. Alejandro replied, “It sure explains a lot,” obviously thinking I'd turned into my own mother, at least as far as he was concerned. Clearly Nico had been listening in as well.

We continue driving in silence as I try to figure out how to distract Nico from his simmering fury.

When we reach the dentist, the hygienist asks Nico how he is, and he immediately launches into his grievances: “I was just here” he said. “My mother is bringing me back here for no reason whatsoever.”

Patiently I explain to Nico that he had indeed visited the dentist a few weeks ago when his brother had an appointment, but now it was his turn. “Could you tell him when he was here last?” I ask the young woman, and after she tells him it was six months ago, Nico grudgingly submits to having his teeth cleaned.

Then the dentist walks in and says, “Hi buddy, how are you?” Nico is happy to return his high five, but he isn't through complaining about me. “She,” he says accusingly, pointing at me, “interrupted my school work and made me leave early. She doesn't value my education.”

“Oh,” the dentist replies, clearly taken aback while I flushed red. “Well, my son likes school a lot too.”

“Where is this coming from?” I wonder as we return to the car, and then I realize that although the logic is completely twisted, the words are all mine. I do emphasize my negatives especially about climbing the roof or skateboarding without a helmet with a “no excuses whatsoever” finale, and as a professor, I'm sure the terms “value” and “education” come up fairly often in my conversation as well.

By now I am as mad at Nico as he is at me, so when we get in the car and he wants to hear “Skippin' Stones,” I say no as emphatically and turn on Ella Fitzgerald to soothe my nerves, knowing full well that this is one kind of music I like and Nico doesn't.

Nico realizes it's not time to push me so he stays quiet for about five minutes. Then he asks where we're going since he sees we're not on the direct route home.

“To pick up Tomas,” I answer. “Oh great, we're picking up Tomas,” Nico repeats happily, clearly all over his tantrum at the dentist and glad to have the chance to tell his tale of woe to his older brother.

As I stop outside the Lotta Burger and let Tomas in, I too let go of my lingering resentment. I dial up Flypsyde's “Skippin' Stones,” and Tomas starts to sing along, “Cause I'm skippin' town I'm skippin stones.” I join in on the next lines --“I'm skippin' town. I'm skippin' stones.”

I glance in the rear view mirror. Nico isn't even going to complain about my singing. He is listening too intently. “Probably trying to catch the 'inappropriate' words,” I think to myself and smile.