Sometimes our sons drop by

On Tuesday my son came by to eat his sandwich–he’d had an appointment in the neighborhood and by 2:30 he was ready to stuff something down his throat before getting on the train to Brooklyn. I really would have made something for him to eat, but I was working against a deadline, and, per usual, there was nothing in our refrigerator. Well, sort of nothing. I tend to have good cheese, even though I am lactose intolerant. I can supposedly still eat hard or aged cheese. Then there are Lactaid pills. So I buy tasty cheeses at Zabars, but Howard and I don’t make a dent. We end up handing them over to Raphael. Anyway, unusually Howard happened to be home that afternoon, too, grading final exams. So my son ate his sandwich and then spread out on the couch and read magazines. If Howard hadn’t been doing the professor-in-study thing, Raphael would have had the TV on. He and his girlfriend don’t have cable, and I joke that he comes over to watch TV. He loves cooking shows, although he’s an environmental vegetarian, which means he eats milk products and eggs and fish that are on a special list. (Here’s a link to the kind of list I take with me when I’m shopping to cook dinner for him and his girlfriend: All Regions Guide – Online Seafood Watch Guide for Sustainable Seafood Choices | Monterey Bay Aquarium http://bit.ly/kfBOnr.) I really love his visits, though I can’t resist giving advice, which he never take. That’s annoying, but after all, he is almost 28, and, really and truly an adult. However, lately I’ve been experiencing¬† this disconnect: I mean, what happened to the little Rafi? The one who love dinosaurs and and books about animals? He must be inside that strapping young man somewhere. My friend Sally Koslow has just finished a book titled The Wander Years (Viking, sometime in 2012) all about Gen Y. I’m looking forward to it–I look forward to all her books–because I’m convinced I’ll have an “aha” moment, that something she’s written will explain it all. Because I know I’m lucky to have children who live near by and still drop by. But I’m so mystified by this parent-of-adult-kids thing. When I get a better grasp on things, I’ll blog. Meanwhile here is a picture of me, Raphael and Ariel taken at Kettle Kitchen in Lancaster, PA during April. We had just been petting and feeding some goats and lambs and were about to go buy Amish jellies and preserves. This was like a photo op place, like they have at Sea World. My son has since shaved his beard. I think he’s had facial hair for the past 12 years. I looked at him last Tuesday thinking that without the beard, maybe I’d see that little boy I’m looking for. Same twinkle in the eye. But, otherwise, nope.