When Taylor was in the Trauma Unit at Lakeland Regional Medical Center, he slowly began to regain his ability to understand what was happening. We spent a LOT of time telling him what had happened, how well and fast he was improving, and encouraging him in every way we knew how.
On evening, I was talking to him and found myself apologizing for times when I got agitated with him or for things that I now realized were not worth getting worked up over. At that time, he had the Trach so he couldn't talk to me but would shake his head that he understood what I was saying.
I also talked to him about other things that I griped too much about. I don't recall ever seeing Taylor comb his hair, but that didn't stop me from saying "Taylor, comb your hair" on occasions when I thought it needed to be combed. Fortunately, he has "wash and wear" hair, so it always looked ok anyway. And, I spent more time than I should have telling him to pull his baggy pants up. There were times he walked like a penguin to keep them from moving down any further, but "belt" wasn't even in his vocabulary.
When I was talking to him in the hospital, I remember telling him something like "From now on, I don't care if you ever comb your hair again. In fact, if you want a purple mohawk I'll take you to get it. You can wear pants around your ankles if you want to - or you can just wear boxers in public. I don't care. If you want to get piercings, it doesn't matter. If you want a tattoo, I'll pay for it". I was just so happy that he would be able to do all that stuff so it really didn't matter to me anymore.
So........Taylor recently called and asked me to pick him up at his friend Reid's place of employment. He caught a ride there with a friend that was not coming back to town and he was ready to come home. Reid works at Lou's Tattoos. "Hmmmmm......" I thought.
When I got there, Taylor and Reid were outside. I got out of the car and he was smiling. "Let's see it" I said. Taylor turned, dropped his pants and proudly displayed his new tattoo on his right butt cheek. When his mother asked "Approved by who?" He quipped "God". He always had a knack for taking the wind out of our parental sails, sometimes.
On evening, I was talking to him and found myself apologizing for times when I got agitated with him or for things that I now realized were not worth getting worked up over. At that time, he had the Trach so he couldn't talk to me but would shake his head that he understood what I was saying.
I also talked to him about other things that I griped too much about. I don't recall ever seeing Taylor comb his hair, but that didn't stop me from saying "Taylor, comb your hair" on occasions when I thought it needed to be combed. Fortunately, he has "wash and wear" hair, so it always looked ok anyway. And, I spent more time than I should have telling him to pull his baggy pants up. There were times he walked like a penguin to keep them from moving down any further, but "belt" wasn't even in his vocabulary.
When I was talking to him in the hospital, I remember telling him something like "From now on, I don't care if you ever comb your hair again. In fact, if you want a purple mohawk I'll take you to get it. You can wear pants around your ankles if you want to - or you can just wear boxers in public. I don't care. If you want to get piercings, it doesn't matter. If you want a tattoo, I'll pay for it". I was just so happy that he would be able to do all that stuff so it really didn't matter to me anymore.
So........Taylor recently called and asked me to pick him up at his friend Reid's place of employment. He caught a ride there with a friend that was not coming back to town and he was ready to come home. Reid works at Lou's Tattoos. "Hmmmmm......" I thought.
When I got there, Taylor and Reid were outside. I got out of the car and he was smiling. "Let's see it" I said. Taylor turned, dropped his pants and proudly displayed his new tattoo on his right butt cheek. When his mother asked "Approved by who?" He quipped "God". He always had a knack for taking the wind out of our parental sails, sometimes.
Before March 1 of 2007, I probably would have thrown a temper tantrum about a tattoo. And, I would probably pass out if he came home with a piercing. I now appreciate just how petty getting worked up about hair, baggy pants, "thump thump" music and all the other things I complained about actually is. Now, if he came home with a pierced nose, a visible tattoo and was playing Jay-Z loud enough to shake windows I would probably grit my teeth....but only for a couple of seconds. I would keep my mouth shut and give him a big hug and remember how lucky we are that he can do those things.
1 comment:
Taylor, you are so right...what a statement! We never need HIS acceptance, we have already been "APPROVED"...I LOVE IT!
Post a Comment