I want him to look down and ask himself ‘What’s on my plate?’ How do I create a future? Lay the
stepping stones to a goal? So far
its still Chutes and Ladders for him.
Every day a new adventure. He has walked his plate to the dog bowl,
scraped it clean of opportunities and wondered off the trail. I’ve heard from
some (men) that this is admirable, formative. They’re envious of his freedom.
Why must his lessons be hand forged artisanally crafted,
locally sourced, micro brewed in bad behavior? So Portlandia! His parentally woven safety
nets of financial planning and collegiate expectations have been shrugged off,
while suspended above his head a sharp blade dangles, twisting in the breeze of
his creation with his tsunami of questionable choices. Only visible to maternal
eyes, apparently. He senses it but it doesn’t factor into his decision making.
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