A Vignette

Recently, my fifteen year old son was badgering me. This is nothing new. On the night in question, he was badgering me about how he wanted to stay up past bedtime on a school night - a topic which he brought up immediately after bedtime. MY bedtime, even. This too, you may have guessed, is nothing new. Continuing with the syndicated reruns of This Is Your Teenager: Greatest Hits, he also wanted to retain possession of an internet-enabled device and for me, his mother, who has never once even SEEN a turnip truck, to leave the router plugged in. Again: Nothing new, but at this point, hilariously so, because, well... Right. Haha. As if!

My son launched into his supporting arguments: He is plenty responsible and can indeed be trusted to go to sleep on time! It matters not that I, his mother, who happened to get up around 2am the night before only to find him awake and online, presented direct evidence to the contrary. My child subscribes to the idea that the more loudly he states his position, the more believable his statements will be. "I ALWAYS GO TO SLEEP ON TIME!" he bellowed. It doesn't matter if he fell asleep in Latin class! He is mature! He knows stuff! He knows lots of stuff! He listens to hip hop!

Now, I have no idea what that last part was about, but I was irritated, close to losing my temper, and comparing my 39 years to his 15, I know more - about lots of things - than he does. So: I'm grumpy, Over It, and quite tired of this nightly bickering. I shouted "OH? HIP HOP? ALLLLRIGHTY THEN," I Jim Carrey at him, "EVER HEARD OF EAZY-E? Hip hop legend. Mom talk sidebar: He started having sex at 12, had seven kids with six different women, and died from AIDS-related illnesses when he was only 31! Mom talk sidebar done. NOW: NAME TWO SONGS FROM EAZY-E's GROUNDBREAKING 1988 SOLO ALBUM EAZY-DUZ-IT!"

Information overload, challenge accepted, and then finally, blank stare from the aforementioned teen. "No? Nothing?" I ask.

My baby, over six feet tall, all shoulders and elbows and bravado, blinks at me. Big, heavy-lidded, sleepy-in-spite-of-himself, thunking, Jabba the Hutty blinks.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Alright, then: Finish this: "YO, DRE!"

More blinking. "You mean... DOCTOR Dre?" he asked. Half a point for that, I think, but do not say. What I do say, is "The correct answer would have been "What's up?", at which point I would have replied "GIMME A FUNKY ASS BASSLINE!", but you lose! Goodnight! Go to bed! Good day, sir! I SAID GOOD DAY!

"Yes ma'am." he says, amused. Welcome to a parental jbeebling.