Last night I was writing my blog post, writing some other fiction, and catching up on emails from friends, while watching some TNT movie on late night cable. Son#1 came down with his blanket and a notebook.
"I've got a bunch of the song written, Mom." He plopped the notebook in front of me. "It's got a blues theme, but I don't have the music yet."
A few nights ago, he told me he had words for a song in his head. I told him that writers should keep a journal by their bed, so that they can start writing when stuff like that is in there.
It wasn't finished, but he had a full page of lyrics. It was written to be a song, complete with a chorus (I got that from the "x3" notation he'd put), as well as the "(instrumental)" that broke the page. I smiled. He's my kid. Even the draft has structure.
At first read, I kinda of smiled. Simple, 12-year old drivel, I thought.
"My first day in school
I feel sorta shy
It doesn't feel cool
to be the lonely guy . . .
Then a thought occurred
Are my friends really true
It is absurd
that I'm being used . . . "
But Mrs. Chako, you're thinking . . . you write 12-year old drivel sometimes. My point exactly. I KNOW 12-year old drivel.
But then I remembered being 12. How everything was magnified. Every emotion was raw and new. Every friendship, sucess, heartbreak, and failure the most monumental thing in your life. Certain that no one before you had ever experienced it just like this. Here he was, articulating that. And for a kid who's musical tastes run with Lady Gaga and Owl City . . . to recognize that it might be more appropriate with a blues riff behind it tells me theres hope for him yet.
Maybe when DrChako gets back down here, they can work out the music. Until then, I just smiled at him.
Thought about telling him that Mommy thinks guys who are writers and write well are hot, hot, HOT!!! Then I realized that might creep him out. Regardless of how true it is. (HOT!)
Thought about telling him about the observation DrChako's friend Colin had about guys who write songs and play music and their ability to acquire . . . well, lets just say hot VP wives. But then I realized he'll figure that out sooner than he needs to anyway, particularly given how handsome he is, so we'll just keep that on the down low too.
So instead I just told him how proud I was that he was experimenting with being a writer like his dad and I.
And I covered him up with his blanket on the couch and let him fall asleep there, his notebook beside him. And kissed him on the head.
Because even when he's a famous writer/songwriter, I'll always be his mom.