Chapter 5: The Fledging

Apologies

Welcome back! Let me first apologize for not having the most relevant images for chapter 5: The fledging. First of all, photos do not exist for most of the situations you are about to read about, thankfully. Secondly, most of my photos are in boxes and on drives that are stored away until the house is built. Please enjoy these random images of Jackson’s adventures I was able to find and cobble together! 🙂

And now, for the story.

It had been a short but emotion-packed two weeks since arriving onto the new property and beginning our new lives as lunatics.  Hence, we had grown more accustomed to the minefield of cackling Jack-in-the-boxes now known as home.  Settled down or not, Jackson was all too ready to return to school. 

As a new Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corp (ROTC) cadet at Virginia Tech, Jackson faced what is known as New Cadet Week.  In spite of sounding a little like a fun-filled week of games, mixer activities, and free food, sadly, it is not.  It is more like a condensed version of military boot camp and fraternity pledge week combined into one. 

New cadets look forward to the complete loss of their freedom, rights, belongings, and respect. (Oh, and their hair too).  Not allowed to sneeze under the angry and unpleasant gaze of upper-class chaperones known as the Cadre, who all seem to be channeling Major Payne. Put through extensive, repetitive, spirit-crushing drills and exercises-much like the “lessons” an older sibling might impart.  In other words, cadets can expect to be completely broken down before being slowly rebuilt over the school year.  One piece at a time.  All of this, well understood, yet, Jackson was chomping at the bit to trade the “homestead hustle” for the “maggot crawl”.

At school, one could at least look forward to daily showers and air conditioning.  He knew that no matter what horrors awaited him, he was not likely to come across a weed eater or critter-filled hay bales.  There would be no need to worry about using up all of the water when he showered. Furthermore, electricity would be limitless (when allowed to use it, that is).  He’d had a good taste of the hardship I had mentioned in Ch 4.  As a result, he had grown quite a bit and maybe learned a little humility and gratitude; a good boy, well on his way to becoming a great man.

But first…

Byron deployed on one of many Army adventures, I was home alone when I found out I was pregnant with Jackson. Pregnancy test in hand, I ran out the door to go share the news with a friend that lived close by. Incidentally, I ran out of the house without thinking and without completing the usual safety measures like closing the door behind me.  

Returning home from my friend’s house, there was a frenzy of activity at my end of the street.  Firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars; all with bright, flashing lights lined the street.  I began to pick up the pace and I started to worry something had happened to one of my neighbors. The panic grew as I could see uniformed men walking in and out of my house.  

Oh my God what has happened?  Where are my dogs?  Are they OK?  By now, I was flat out running.

“Miss, we’re going to need you to stay back while we work”, I was warned by a square-shaped man in a police uniform as I rushed past him.

“What’s going on?  What’s wrong?  This is my house!” I blurted out in one continuous sentence.  “Where are my dogs?  Are they OK?”

“You live here miss?”  He asked dubiously.  As if I were trying to sneak something past him.

“That is what I said! What is happening here!” I insisted.

“We received a break-in alert at your address and when we arrived, we were told by your neighbor that something must be wrong because your car is in the driveway.  She said you wouldn’t go anywhere without it and you would never leave your front door open.”

And just where were you going in such a hurry?

Still, in a state of terror over the unknown condition of my dogs, it hadn’t yet occurred to me how outlandish the situation was.  All I cared about were my babies.  He assured me they were fine and asked me why I’d been in such a hurry when I left.  The look of confusion on my face must have been plain.  He further clarified by informing me that, in addition to leaving the front door open I had left a pot of ramen cooking on the stove.  The burglar alarm went off and furthermore, the curtains in the laundry room were ripped down as if a struggle had taken place. 

Letting out a bit of a giggle, I recalled my slightly off-balance Weimaraner, Gracie, excitedly jumping up and down in the window to get a glimpse of the UPS driver the day before.  In her mad-as-a-hatter attempt to capture his attention, she had yanked on the curtains to the point of bending the flimsy aluminum curtain rod.  As a result of her mania, dirty streaks ran down the wall where she had bounced and slid off of it, creating what now appeared to be a grizzly crime scene.

Oops, my bad!

I really had no suitable explanation as to why I left the door open or the ramen cooking, but I offered up the best clarification I could.  After giving me a stern warning to be more careful, the intrepid officer turned and walked out to the curious crowd shaking his head.  Hopefully, they all had a good laugh before moving on to people in need of actual rescue.  While, mildly embarrassed, I was still so excited about my news, I hardly gave it a second thought.

Maybe it was my young age and relative inexperience at life, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones.  Whatever the case, I seemed to find myself in improbable situations more often than what might be considered normal.

The laundry hamper incident…

One sunny spring day nearing the end of my pregnancy, I had just returned home from an appointment. Byron was, once again, deployed.  The appointment went well, and although the tensile strength of my waistband was being tested, I felt good that day.  The months and months of intractable vomiting had finally begun to subside and I had, thus far, remained in possession of my breakfast. It was a pretty good day.

After pulling into the driveway, I gathered my belongings and skillfully extracted myself from the car, careful to lock it behind me.  I rummaged through my bag for keys as I approached the front door.  When the pocket I habitually put my keys in turned up empty, I plopped myself down on the step and grunted.  Then I completed a thorough search of the depths of the bag but came up empty.  By this point, I had a pretty good idea of my situation as I had recently become prone to locking my keys in the car. 

If you’re gonna be that dumb, you’d better be tough. (This week’s Byron-ism: courtesy of the late and very great George Macdonell)

Sadly, prior to our introduction to the hide-a-key, I cased the place in search of an unlocked window. The bedroom window was the only option.  Not an ideal choice as the window was at least five feet off of the ground and didn’t stay open by itself. However, I had forfeited my opportunity to enter in an ideal manner when I locked my keys in the car.  Again.  I found a piece of scrap wood to prop the heavy window open.  Being late-season pregnant, this maneuver was going to take some planning, some skill, agility, and grace.  Obviously, the outcome was iffy at best.

I couldn’t go in headfirst which would obviously pose too much risk to the babe on board.  Even though the window was five feet off of the ground on the outside, the floor on the inside was only a couple of feet below the window.  If I could hoist myself up into a backward sitting position onto the sill of the open window, I’d be able to just slide in the rest of the way and gently ease myself to the floor.  Easy peasy. What could go wrong?

It worked!  Too well.  I hadn’t factored in the extra momentum of the maneuver.  Unfortunately, I also failed to consider that the laundry hamper lived just below the window and was likely going to serve as my landing pad.  By the time I did consider these factors, things had been set in motion and all I could do was tuck and roll. 

So much for agility and grace

The good news was that I was now inside the house.  Well most of me anyway.  Stuck, ass-first, in the tall, round, wicker laundry hamper, my legs were still outside the window.  The piece of scrap wood had kicked loose so the window was now held open by my shins and I was held in place by the window. We were at an impasse.

 Panic began to rise in my throat as I pictured Byron walking in a week later and finding me deceased in the laundry hamper with my feet sticking out of the house like the Wicked Witch Of The East.  Subsequently, panic faded to hysteria as the stupidity of it all sunk in.  I imagined what it must look like from the outside and giggled uncontrollably.  Ever seen the movie Money Pit?  The scene where Tom Hanks gets stuck in the rug in the hole in the floor?  That was me. 

I managed to pull myself together after five minutes or so and realized that if I could just reach the window and lift it enough to get my feet inside, I would be able to dump myself over to the floor and then could squeeze out of the hamper.  It took a couple of tries, but I was able to free my legs and then the rest of me. 

Yes, that actually happened

Thus began life with Jackson and it has been action-packed ever since.  Much like his mother, Jackson has always had a talent for finding adventure. Thus, I debated filling this post with funny stories about the silly situations Jackson has gotten into. However, I ultimately decided that it would be unbecoming of a mom.  What I want people to know is how proud of him we are and about all of the many impressive accomplishments he has racked up.  I want to share how dazzled his teachers always were with his manners, kindness, and compassion for others.  I want to brag about how well he did in school and what an amazing artist he is.  Finally, there should be a story in here about how responsible and mature he is…

…Okay, Okay, maybe just one story involving a very silly situation.  Sorry, Jax, the readers want what they want.

In a town called Loveland…

Jackson was 11 years old and in the 5^th grade.  We lived in a great community in Loveland, CO, and Jackson’s school was just a couple of blocks away.  Despite an often overwhelming desire to be his personal bodyguard, I conceded to letting him walk to and from school with his friends that year.  I would head home from work about the time Jackson got out of school and normally we’d be home about the same time.  That day I was hung up at work, however, and was running late. 

I picked up my cell phone and saw that Jackson was calling.  Probably to tell me he was home and to find out why I was not there yet.  Before he could speak, I said, “I’m on my way, leaving now…”

“Mom”, he interrupted.  “I think someone was in the house.”

My heart skipped a beat as I tried to sound calm. “Why do you think that?” I asked.

“My dresser drawers are all pulled out and stuff is hanging out of them”.

Oh, good lord, here we go again.

I felt a bolt of panic shoot through me.  “It’s OK”, still feigning calm.  “I’m sure it’s nothing, but just in case, leave the house right away and go next door to Brandon and Jenn’s until I get home.  I’ll come get you in a couple of minutes”.

While I was frantically stuffing my things into my bag and running toward the door of the office, I get another call.  “Jackson?  Are you next door?”

“MOM!” Jackson wailed into the phone.  He started talking again but I couldn’t understand him.

“Jackson. Calm down, I can’t understand you.  Are you OK?  What is happening?” I asked.

And just like in the movies…

He started to speak again but the phone abruptly cut off

“JACKSON?!” I screamed.  Everyone came running out of their offices to see what was causing me to shriek like a teenage girl in a horror movie.  I was numb with terror at this point.  My mind was racing with thoughts of a kidnapper grabbing his phone from him and stuffing him in his car.  I tried to get him back on the phone repeatedly, without success.

Flying down the road to get home as fast as I can, my eyes blurry with tears, I finally get another call from his phone.  “JACKSON! ARE YOU OK?  WHERE ARE YOU?  WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?”

“Mom, I am OK.  I am at Brandon and Jenn’s.  I fell and they think I might have broken my arm.”  He said to me.

Holy shit!  What was going on?!  My mind is still racing but hearing that he is safely next door with our neighbors, who are both ER nurses, I am at least able to see straight now. Consequently, significantly increasing the odds of me driving home without causing additional mayhem. 

After what seemed like a much longer than normal drive home I thanked the neighbors for taking care of him, put him in the car, and then sped off to the urgent care center.  By the time Byron arrived, we were waiting for the doctor to return to the room to apply the cast.  Of course, the arm was broken.   

The story unfolds…

While we waited for the Dr to return, Jackson explained that after receiving instructions to quickly leave the house and go next door, he thought he could make a much quicker escape on his skateboard.  For this reason, he then ran around the house searching for his helmet.  Obviously, safety first.  

After gearing up he jumped on his skateboard and headed to the neighbors.  In his haste, he made the turn into their driveway a little too quickly, flew off of the board, and landed on the sidewalk.  The neighbors discovered him right there in a sobbing heap after running outside to see what the ruckus was.

When we got home that evening, we did a sweep of the house and didn’t notice anything out of order.  Upon looking in Jackson’s room, we could see the drawers were in fact all pulled out.  One of which was upside down on the floor.  It did indeed look like a ransacked bedroom.  But why?  What sense did that make? Someone breaks in and ransacks the 11-year-old boy’s room but leaves the rest of the house alone?  I thought to myself.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that a sheet that was hanging out of the top drawer had a few holes ripped in it.  It was as if a tiny Freddy Kruger thought there was a tiny 1980s teen sleeping in the drawer.  Odd.  I thought as I stood there contemplating what the most likely explanation might be.

Not exactly Sherlock Holmes

I reviewed the clues:  Jackson’s room.  Tiny Freddy Kruger holes.  Drawers all askew.  Nothing else out of place.  Hmmm.

“Jackson, what exactly happened when you got home”, I asked him to recount his steps precisely. 

“Well, I came in the house and went to my room.  When I opened the door, Sammy ran out and I noticed my room was all tore up.”

“Sammy?”  I said.  “Locked in your room.  All day?”

Sammy was our cat.  Click. The pieces were starting to fall into place.  What we had here was a classic Burns calamity; too bizarre to be believed, too daft to be made up.

It seemed the cat had done what trapped cats do best.  Wreak havoc.  Not too difficult to imagine, he probably made an attempt to jump on top of the dresser. He likely tried to grab onto the sheet that was hanging out of the drawer, ripping little Freddy Kruger holes in it as he dangled from it.  He probably ripped the other drawers out either in a standard feline freak out as he fell or, perhaps in successive attempts to conquer the chest of drawers.  Whatever had happened, it seemed pretty clear that the graceless cat deserved most of the credit.

Mystery solved, and now in the books.  My crazy mom instincts wanted to revoke the walking-home-with-friends privileges, wrap him in bubble wrap and make him walk to and from school holding my hand. I could make up the basement real nice so that he never, ever, ever leaves me.  My rational mom instincts suggested that would be an error in judgment.  I did, however, make sure I was home before him from that day on.

Where was I?

Wow, that was quite a tangent.  What was I talking about?

Oh, right.  The point here is that it was now time for Jackson to leave the nest. It had been a wonderful, exciting, and fulfilling journey.  Jackson has made our lives so much more interesting and complete from day one.  Even though college was not a new scenario, and it was likely we would continue being Jackson’s parents, fledging was imminent.  I knew that he’d be back at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and for summer breaks with a full dirty laundry bag and an empty belly.  But…

Jackson’s story, while permanently interwoven with ours, will now be his own.  We too would begin a new storyline that will always include him but no longer orbit around him.  I was proud, excited, and scared. 

Time to go…

It was still dark out when we loaded into the car on that foggy, rainy morning.  I promised myself I would not cry, and I almost succeeded.

Jackson, we are exceptionally proud to be your parents and we can’t wait to read the next chapter of your story!  

Ut Prosim. 

Aim high… Fly-Fight-Win

Just for fun, here is a link to the VT core of cadets information page in case you’re interested. No, I don’t work for them, just think they’re pretty great.

https://vtcc.vt.edu/

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