Faster, Stronger, Higher

Who are these youngsters? What are they looking at?  Whom do they see?  Where do they want to go?  

These are my children, on summer vacation last August.  They are looking down at the Seine, at Paris, from the Eiffel Tower.  They see a city of dwellers below them, and wonder if there is anyone like them down there.  They want to go higher up the tower, but their mother is afraid of heights.

My children always make me push my boundaries, and reach for new heights.  

This afternoon, for example, my daughter wanted to bake, to relieve the stress of returning to school tomorrow after two weeks of Christmas bliss.  She got a new cookbook as a gift and wanted to try making macarons. We had lovely macarons in Paris.  She's never made macarons before, and neither have I.  I can make a mean spaghetti sauce or chili, but baking is not my forte.  It has been an exercise in patience (mine) and perseverence (hers).  The batter oozes out more quickly than it should.  The food colouring doesn't come out like the pictures in the book.  The circles are not perfect.  My daughter flees from the kitchen, her wails following close behind as she slams the door and retreats to her room to ponder her next steps.  I lick my fingers - the taste, at least, is pleasing.

My older son has spent the past few days applying to a new high school.  He wants to study drama.  Or rather, he wants to escape his current high school and he's hoping against hope that the local arts school will be happy to have new male students.  I consider suggesting he ask his younger sister for advice, but think better of it. She doesn't seem to be in the mood for conversation.  He has worked hard over the past few days to complete three concise paragraphs on why he wants to attend, how he will contribute to the school, what his other interests are.  In the past, these interests have included competitive lacrosse, mountain biking and cross-country running, but after suffering five concussions in an 18-month period, he would do well to take on a more cerebral but less brain-bashing activity.  In the section to be completed by parents, I write a compelling 700-character explanation of why I think my son will benefit from studying in an arts program, and cross my fingers.

My younger son is saving for an iPhone.  He wants a new one, the latest version, with all the bells and whistles.  Nothing less (even a used one, if it could be found) will do.  At a $600-900 price tag, I told him to save his pennies.  His Christmas wishlist had but one word on it: money. He looks at my mini Samsung (I'm not even sure what version it is), purchased only three years ago -- sporting crumbs and dust in the interior from so many explosive drops -- with disdain.  In future, I suppose his children will communicate with their friends through microchips implanted in their brains and they will shake their heads at his handheld device.  I invited him to help me with the laundry in order to earn a few extra dollars, and his father put him to work painting the living room.

After almost fifteen years of parenting them, I still feel like I'm getting to know them.  New heights, indeed. No wonder I feel so queasy.  As for climbing higher on the Eiffel Tower, I sent them further up -- on their own.