So, over the spring, we had Sarcasmo enrolled a class where he learned to be a lifeguard. Then, of course, he spent most of the summer away at various camps and service projects and rarely, if ever, saw a pool. That all changed the day before school.

Sarcasmo got his first job. The young dude who [...]]]> by Richard

So, over the spring, we had Sarcasmo enrolled a class where he learned to be a lifeguard. Then, of course, he spent most of the summer away at various camps and service projects and rarely, if ever, saw a pool. That all changed the day before school.

Sarcasmo got his first job. The young dude who sometimes has a difficult experience when I ask him to do two things simultaneously was, for 8 seven hours Tuesday, in charge of the lives of hundreds of strangers.

I’m here to report they all survived. Including Sarcasmo.

It was actually pretty neat. Sarcasmo had dropped off an application with a local company that supplies lifeguards to a lot of the pools around Charlotte. We thought he’d get called right away, but it turns out that a lot of college students came home from their various campuses and took most of the steady jobs. However, they’ve left here to go back to college, which freed up some shifts.

Sarcasmo was caught by surprise. I’m pretty sure he’d become convinced he’d make it through the summer without actually having to work. He got the call on Saturday. Being a teenager and being Sarcasmo, he accepted the job, found out where it would be and when and thought that was it.

“Do they supply the uniform?” I asked.

“I dunno.”

“How much are you getting paid?”

“I dunno.”

“Do they want you to have a whistle? Wait. You dunno?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, Dad.”

On Monday, Sarcasmo called back the pool management people and found out he had to supply his own uniform and whistle, which lead to a quick trip to the store.

He looked great with his red lifeguard shorts, his white lifeguard shirt and the whistle hanging around his neck. And then he was gone for more than eight hours, only getting back by about 9 p.m. that night. I can’t tell you how hard it was to resist the urge to head down there and spy on him.

I didn’t want to check up on him, but just see him in action. The only thing holding me back was that I didn’t want to look like (or even be) one of those types of helicopter parents who hover around their kids constantly. I trusted the dude, so it wasn’t that. It was just the urge to see him out there, standing strong and independent and in charge.

I wanted to see his first steps as he emerged from the cocoon of childhood and started walking as a true dude. Instead, I had to content myself with his after-action report when he got back.

“It was boring. Sometimes we had breaks for, like, 20 minutes and I didn’t bring my book so I didn’t have anything to do.”

Which was, I thought, probably a good thing for a lifeguard.

I think he liked it, though. He said he was looking forward to taking some more shifts.

I guess he really is growing up. My little dude is becoming a dude.

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There’s a point during the summer when I’ve just about had enough. I’m sure you know that point if you’ve got little dudes or dudettes who are of a certain age.

You know. When you have to get up and get work done early and, even after you’ve been working for a couple of hours, actually [...]]]> by Richard

There’s a point during the summer when I’ve just about had enough. I’m sure you know that point if you’ve got little dudes or dudettes who are of a certain age.

You know. When you have to get up and get work done early and, even after you’ve been working for a couple of hours, actually accomplishing stuff, the little dudes are still racked out in bed. Once they finally do get up, their basic plan for the day is to lay around, play video games, maybe eat a little something (i.e. anything that isn’t nailed down, hidden or actively trying to run away), watch some tv and generally try to get through a day while essentially brain dead.

Yeah. I hit that point the other day. It’s coming earlier and more often with each summer. Seems I’m getting grouchier. Well, tough.

Anyway, I rounded up the little dudes and told them we were all going to the YMCA to get in a workout. Unfortunately, the YMCA to which we hied off had no workout facilities for the younger set, which meant I got no workout and, instead, went to the Y’s gym with Hyper Lad to shoot some hoops and generally mess around while Zippy the Monkey Boy and Sarcasmo were left to fend for themselves in the workout facility.

I didn’t have high hopes. I figured the two of them would goof off for 30 minutes and then come get me ready to head back to brain death. Turns out I was wrong. They actually did work out, came back to me all sweaty and talking about sore arms, so that was good.

We were getting ready to leave when one of the guys shooting hoops at a nearby basket asked if we wanted to play a little five-on-five with them. I laughed and quickly volunteered Sarcasmo and Zippy, both of whom like basketball, even though you’d never know it by the very dusty basketball net in our backyard. Then the dude said they needed me as well.

Now, remember, I’m old and basically an orthopedic nightmare man. Still, the little dudes are big enough that they were able to corral me and drag me into the game.

Which turned out to be a lot of fun. We ran, we jumped. We enjoyed ourselves.

And the hero of the game turned out to be Sarcasmo, who made four baskets, including the winning shot!

He was such a teenager. Smiling and high-fiving and getting all happy in the moment. Then, as soon as the game was over and we were home, he basically went into it’s-no-big-deal mode and didn’t even want to brag about it to She Who Must Have Missed The Game.

That’s the difference between big and little dudes. I managed to not kill myself during the game and I’m still bragging about it. Sarcasmo basically carried our team (something he’s never done in any of his previous basketball seasons where four baskets is his season total) and he managed to look bored and tried not to talk about it.

Eh, give him a couple of years. I’m sure we’ll hear about it then. “Remember that day I scored 50 points and really embarrassed you on the basketball court, Dad?” Of course, by that time, my memory will probably be so horrible I might actually go along with it.

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So Zippy the Monkey Boy has been playing basketball for his small, private school. He’s enjoyed the last two years on the team, but he wanted to get better. With that in mind, we signed him up for an overnight basketball camp.

I knew we might have a little trouble when, after we signed Zippy up, [...]]]> by Richard

So Zippy the Monkey Boy has been playing basketball for his small, private school. He’s enjoyed the last two years on the team, but he wanted to get better. With that in mind, we signed him up for an overnight basketball camp.

I knew we might have a little trouble when, after we signed Zippy up, they sent us a letter talking about how we needed to make sure and attend the college recruiting seminar they would be holding for the parents. Now, I know Zippy likes playing basketball, but he’s not evinced the interest or the starting-teamness to worry about being recruited.

However, it did let us know that there would be some quite good players at this camp. We talked to Zippy about it, how he’d have to play the best if he wanted to be his best. He was fine with it and was looking forward to the challenge.

When I dropped Zippy off at the camp, there was a meeting with the coaches. The head coach said something along the lines of how cell phones were a problem for him because some athletes took their cell phones to the gym and then had the phones stolen. I glanced at Zippy, who looked back witheringly, as if to say he’d never be that stupid.

Then the coach said he also blamed cell phones for a lot of angry parent calls he received. He said some athletes would call their parents to complain they weren’t getting enough playing time or the coaches were too hard on them or whatever. Another glance, another withering, silent response.

So I figured all was well. Off Zippy went to a camp where they worked out — with breaks for meals and such — from 0900 to basically 2130 (9:30 p.m.).

That first night, I was reclining in my lounge chair after a long, hard day of sitting and staring into space while trying to come up with just the right word (and failing at it. Hence the hard part.), when my cell phone rang.

It was Zippy. He didn’t even say hello.

“Dad,” he said. “My roommate said if I’ve never been to a basketball camp before, I shouldn’t go to this one because it’s so hard.”

“So, did you have a good day? Did you get a lot done?”

“I told you, Dad, it was hard. It’s only been a half day and they almost had me puking.”

I had to take a silent pause here to stop from laughing while I remembered his withering glare.

“Well, son,” I said. “Maybe the hard work you put in today will help you to be better tomorrow.”

“But my roommate said I shouldn’t come to this camp if I haven’t been to any others.”

“You’re already there, so it’s too late now. Get some sleep, Zippy. I think you’re going to need it. Sounds like you’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

He sighed. “‘Night, Dad.”

And he hung up, without ever coming right out and asking for his dad to come pick him up at 11 at night from the camp because they’d made him work hard.

I know. I’m a bad dad.

Still, he lasted the rest of the camp without calling and complaining, so I can’t wait to hear what he has to say about the rest of the experience. Will he be glad that he toughed it out? Snarling and grimacing because we made him work hard?

I’ll let you know when I know, dudes.

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