May. 29, 2005 - 16:32 MDT

RAISIN' IN THE SON

Life is chopped up in eras, time lines, episodes and occurrences. It happens all in a string and only later can I begin to separate things out into slots.

I am thinking of the time when our oldest son Doug was ten, a Cub Scout in Heather's Den. He and others in the pack came to Webelos age, and I became the Den ?Mother? of the Webelos, of course they called me a Den Dad.

So my son and I embarked on growing to maturity at our own pace. He was one who would stretch himself physically and his toys to the max. Bedtime was resisted until he ran totally out of energy. In the Den activities it is quite possible that I had as much fun as the boys and it was hard to determine who incited who. Guess it was a double barreled thing, they would think of something and I would rack my brain to bring it into actuality.

At the appropriate year I found myself being the Scoutmaster of a Boy Scout troop. The adventures and fun began and growth to maturity proceeded, albeit slowly. Doug was as boisterous as the rest of the troop, perhaps I held him to a higher standard of behavior but not in a dictatorial manner, I think.

I guess it was a year after he became a Scout that I got a morning newspaper route. A little job that let me run the route and still make it to work on time for my regular job. Took me awhile to learn the route, how to roll and rubber band the papers, etc. Summer vacation from school came about that time and Doug kept bugging me to let him come and run the route with me. I said, "I will call you once and you will have to get up without grumbling, throw on some clothes and we'll give it a try. He never failed to get up and move, however often he would be silent until his brain caught up with his body. He soon got to the point that he could roll papers quicker than I could. He learned the route quickly too.

One thing I did that other carriers didn't do was to run the route differently depending on whether we got our papers late or on time. If we got them on time the route would be sequentially run, if late then it was run criss-cross to deliver to the early risers first and then back through the sequential delivery. He learned the route forward backward and sideways.

Now I get to the part of our life I love to talk about. Sunday mornings, it was a big job on Sundays, the papers were big and we had to do the inserting of ads etc. We would get loaded up finally and head out. No early risers on Sundays so it was a straight shot. Often he would sit in the back seat of the Suburban and throw both sides of the street as I drove. Mopping our brows we would stop at a cafe and have breakfast and leave shortly. As we lived on the edge of town there were many "boonie" gravel roads nearby. I would drive to one of those, get out, walk around and Doug would assume the helm. Shifting, brake and clutch were a bit clumsy the first time around but were soon conquered by him. About the third time out of watching him, I would relax and read the Sunday paper as he drove, much like a parent sleeps, with one eye on the subject in action.

When school started he continued to get up early and run the route with me and make it to school where he kept up his grades. But Sunday mornings were our "men" time for the two of us.

There would be sporadic conversation as he drove, question and answer times and things like that. He did well and took responsibility for things like a trooper.

Those were the times that I wish it could have been possible to have with our young son Rob, times of working together and bonding possibly closer than the average Dad and son. But it was not to be.

Heather and I talked things over and a certain percentage of the profit from the route was set aside for Doug for his later use. With all the money he had then, he was able to go to Boy Scout Jamboree at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, taking his camera and all the film he could afford. He had worked hard and faithfully and he deserved it.

There was a time when I went into hospital for an appendectomy and had to stay home for a while after returning home. The Assistant Scoutmaster "Bill" drove the route, learned to roll papers and Doug was navigator and threw the papers from the back seat. Bill was amazed at Dougs level of expertise.

That is an era, a period of my life that shows up in my pleasant dreams now and then.

Later, when he was in high school he spent one school summer vacation working in the same shop where I worked. Power tools, hammers, nail guns, ooky black adhesive and all. He worked in the back with the crew who started the campers, I up in front where the finishing touches were done.

As he grew up my admiration for the guy he was becoming increased greatly and I have had no reason to adjust my feelings in any way, ever. He had his battle with alcohol earlier in his life than I did and remarkably he was able to quit cold turkey on his own. He did something I couldn't do in my addiction.

Can't think of a better title or sequence of words for tonight's posting than RAISIN' IN THE SON . . . . . . . .

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