I am at school when my cell phone rings.
It is my youngest son. “I am trying not to freak out. But I can’t find my car keys,” he says,
It appears his car is locked and he thinks he may have left the key in a sweatshirt lying on the front seat. Despite some work with a wire coat hanger, he can’t get into the car.
Just two weeks ago, we had the lock on the front passenger door—which had not locked since Allen bought the van two years ago—repaired. Silly of us. I suggest places for Allen to look for the missing key, and end with, “You can always call Triple A.”
I hear a big intake of breath. I wait. One does not rush Allen. “I called,” he said. “They said they only did it if a child was locked in a car.” As Allen speaks, I am on the AAA website, checking into our account benefits.
No,” I tell him. “It says right here that lock-out services are covered up to $100. Did you call them today?”
No, he admits. It was a while ago. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn’t Triple A he had called. Maybe it was the police.
“I need a plan, Mom,” he tells me. “Help me make a plan.”
As we do, I think how far we have come from almost daily meltdowns to his ability to hold himself in check.
I have learned as much from Allen as he has learned from me.
Lesson #1: Spaghetti goes with mashed potatoes.
When Allen was learning to cook, he made us spaghetti with a side of mashed potatoes.
His explanation was, “I couldn’t find any soup.” It became our family code for Allen’s way of looking at a world that made no sense to him.
Lesson #2: Money has nothing to do with being rich.
In 8th grade, Allen had to write an essay about our family. He asked me how to spell the word, ‘wealthy.’ I laughed and told him that our family was far from wealthy. He aimed his blue eyes right at me and said, “But we’re very rich, Mom! We just don’t have any money.”
Lesson #3: Sometimes you need a doughnut.
One night when Allen was working a late shift, he woke me up at 3AM and handed me a bag with a single doughnut in it. “I was driving past Dunkin Donuts,” he told me, “And I said to myself, ‘Mom deserves a doughnut.’ It’s vanilla cream-filled, your favorite!” He wanted me to eat it right away. And I did.
By the time I get home from work, Allen has called Triple A and gotten into his car, but has not found the key. He is still holding himself together, and has found a locksmith who can come down to the house and make a key for $75. I am impressed at his problem-solving skills and tell him so.
I am finishing up some work in my home office in the evening when Allen, living on the edge of the spectrum and trying to make sense of it all, quietly enters and puts a doughnut bag on my desk. He grins at me and walks away.
I smile and open the bag. Vanilla cream-filled. And yes, I ate it.
You should never refuse a doughnut.
Allen and I agree completely on #2 & #3. As far as #1, if they are both covered with garlic butter, it's a win too!