A bit of 'brood'ing
Last Sunday afternoon, I carpooled with family members to central Illinois to my nephew’s high school graduation party in a small town just outside Springfield.
As we were approaching, Mom mentioned that my sister had told her earlier in the week that the cicadas had arrived there and were quite loud.
“Don’t we hear cicadas every summer?” I thought. “It’s just happening earlier this year than usual.” In other words: what’s the big deal?
But when we pulled into the parking lot of the church where my nephew and his best friend were having their party, I couldn’t believe what I heard, even with the windows closed: yes, definitely the familiar sound of cicadas, but much louder than usual, plus surreal to hear in May and in broad daylight. (I associate the sound with August, and evening.)
“Whoa!” I remarked as we stepped out of the car. “I guess you weren’t kidding!”
And then, almost as if a form of punishment for my having doubted, the buzzing was quite literally in my ear: one of them dive-bombed me.
“Oh my God!” I cried. “Ew!” I recoiled and shook my head and swatted at my hair, and then finally saw the thing on the ground. “I cannot believe that just happened!”
I would like to note at this point that everyone else was able to make the 30-second journey from our parking space to the church doors unscathed.
The fellowship hall was decorated with festive balloons in the boys’ school colors. Two tables displayed elaborate poster boards and photo albums with highlights of the graduates’ childhoods and high school achievements. I scanned the room for my nephew and his little brother: my only two nephews. “My boys,” in a sense, since I didn’t have any children of my own. While the eldest has just graduated, the youngest is about to turn 16 and get his driver’s license. Both boys have seemingly sprouted up into young men overnight, and I don’t understand how. As I was lamenting this, I heard it again: that rattle-snake-shake, and way too close up. “Gaah! There’s another one ON ME!” Not only on me, but resting on my left boob.
I shrieked and shuddered, swatting at myself with the graduation card I’d brought. “Get! Off!” I managed to swipe it off of me and onto the floor.
I looked around. All attendees seemed to be undisturbed—and, thankfully, busy chatting and eating, so I seemed to have escaped notice.
As we mingled and greeted other family members and friends, a relative of my brother-in-law’s came over to say hi. “I saw you over there,” she said with a grin, gesturing toward the entrance. “I saw you doing your dance!”
I see now that all of this was a good thing, because it distracted me from the reality of what was happening: my little guy had reached the milestone that signifies he’ll soon be leaving home.
I know how much of an old, broken-record adult I must seem to him whenever I remark—which is often—that I can’t believe how quickly 18 years have gone by. How just yesterday he was the little toddler who, when I came to visit, would stand at the screen door, banging his hands on the glass and squealing as I got my suitcase out of the car and approached the door. I christened myself “Auntie” the day he was born, and it’s been an important part of my identity, not to mention my great source of joy, ever since. I’ve heard it said that you can never know real love until you’ve become a parent, but maybe whoever said that has never been a childless aunt.
My nephew and his crowd of friends were gathered under the basketball hoop, chatting, giving each other the half-hug/handshake-and-pat-on-back that boys and men do, in their perfectly white athletic shoes, khaki shorts and polo shirts. (These kids are not the grunge-band wannabes my friends and I were at that age.) I thought about how different their world is, and will be, compared to the one I inhibited at their age, (all the while lamenting at how “the 1990s” would, to them, sound like I was referencing the Dark Ages.)
Later in the afternoon, I was finally able to pull him away for a few seconds. I told him how proud I am, and begged him to be careful in the new sportscar he’ll be driving to college. “Be careful always,” I said. “Forever. Like, be careful at. all. times, for the rest of your life. ‘Kay?”
That got at least a half-smile out of him, and he let me give him a hug. And then it was back to the brood of college-bound boys, the buddies he’s gone to school and played soccer and grown up with.
On the exit out to the car, and on drive home, the cicadas left me alone, but the buzz was loud all the way out of town, windows rolled up and all.
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Lovely. Simply lovely. Hearing your voice adds another dimension.
We don’t have cicadas in my neighborhood at all, so I also thought people were blowing it out of proportion until I heard the deafening sound near my son’s school. While parked in the parking lot, one hit my car very near my open window, which I quickly closed. More and more people I know have had confrontations. I feel like it’s just a matter of time before one gets me — when are they going away?!
Congratulations to your nephew! Nothing wrong at all with being a proud aunt!! The more people a kid knows who love and care about them, the better!