BitterSweetLife

It’s not always easy to find a good time to talk with Aidan, because of his busy schedule. Fortunately, when you are lucky enough to catch him in a quiet moment, he usually speaks his mind.

My moment came last night when Aidan was lounging on the futon in his footed pajamas, sipping a decaf vanilla latte, and Lindsay and I had just breathed a big sigh of relief—wishing, at the same time, that we had footed pajamas too. I realized that now was as good a time as ever for an interview.

I shooed Lindsay out of the room, put in Aidan’s favorite Mozart CD, and began to ask questions.

“Hey Aidan, quick: What are some things you like about your Mom?”

At first, Aidan was reticent, as if he was unwilling to speak on the topic. I wondered why he seemed so quiet and bashful, but I quickly realized that it was the fear of sounding overly gushy and sentimental that made him hesitate to talk. I readily understood.

“Look,” I said, “If you get emotional and tear up or anything, I won’t publish that part of the interview. We both know how you feel about Mom.” Aidan looked at me carefully, to see if I was being sincere, and then agreed. The interview was on.

“Ok,” I said. “So what are some things you appreciate about Mom?”

“Well,” said Aidan. “Let me think. OK, I have one. I like how she appreciates my artwork.”

I sighed, because I’d had a feeling this would come up.

“What artwork, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, Dad.”

Indeed, I did know, but I persisted.

“Come on, just explain for the record.”

“Well, for example, my art of ‘being wakeful.’ I have put a great deal of time and energy into this. It is not easy to strike the perfect note between happy alertness and hyper-attentive despair. The genius, you know, is in the details. It’s all about how I whimper softly, and how I kick—not hard enough to wear myself out, but with just enough force to escape from the restraining blankets. I’ve always noticed that Mom pays close attention to my efforts in this field. She is very supportive. Much more than you are, actually.”

“This isn’t about me,” I reminded him. “What else?”

“Well, my Italian fountain imitation. Mom is always impressed by that.”

“She sure is.” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes.

“Also, Mom knows that an artist has more basic needs too. She arranges for my meals to be delivered, five or six times a day.”

“That’s right.”

“And she knows that I generally like to work while being held upright, bounced not shaken, in a sitting position. I’m very particular about that.”

“You sure are.”

“Mom is great.”

Just then, I heard the bedroom door open. Lindsay was coming back into the room! “No!” I said. “I’m not done with the interview yet!”

But it was too late. Lindsay was standing in the room, and Aidan had seen her. Overcome by emotion, he balled up his fists, kicked his feet, and burst into—Well, let’s just say he was deeply moved.

The interview had come to an end, but one thing, at least, was clear. Like small, temperamental artists everywhere, Aidan loves his mom.