August 2008
WHILE I AM DOING MY MORNING meditation and thinking about my plans for the day, my son is just going to bed. He has been up all night on his computer. Now he will sleep until late afternoon, then get up and turn on his computer again.
When I am in bed, our heads are three feet apart, separated by a wall. He’s facing his monitor, seated deep in his fake leather armchair. I have theories about what he is doing all night but not much real information. I know he’s not job hunting or going to school, as he agreed to do a year ago.
On the rare days when my son is awake during daylight hours, it’s because he has not slept at all. He can be sweet or surly, depending on what has kept him up. Sometimes he’s full of ideas and enthusiasm, and we have conversations about books he has read and websites he has found. I expect he has been playing video games most of the night and chatting with other people his age, in their virtual world. I know a big attraction of this world is that it is theirs and not mine. Though I fear he’s avoiding reality, I also see him as gathering power, searching for his passion.
Today my son turns eighteen, and I have planned to talk to him about taking more responsibility. I don’t expect him to wake up and accept reality. Even if I cut him off from financial support. Whether he gets a job or not. I think he will continue for a while to operate on little sleep and stumble around exhausted. He won’t abandon his nighttime world until other forces prevent access to it. He’ll resent those forces; he’ll resent me. And when he does stop staying up all night, I doubt I will sleep better.
Name Withheld
