My son's lived the life of a prince for his first 10 years, waited on hand and foot, someone always at his side,
tended every second of the day. He became overly sophisticated. He could tell an ancient Chinese vase from the blue and white one at Target, and wanted to give his teacher "the real one." He's always loved Chicago blues, though, the really gritty stuff. I can't imagine a starker contrast with his life. "Ain't got no money to pay the rent,
my woman left me, got only a tent;
No food on the table, no shoes on my feet;
A roach crossed my face last night;
I had a midnight treat." It's my caviar kid getting real. So now he's rebelling. His idea of rebellion of to stop eating tasty food. No spices, no fish dishes, no balsamic dressing, no organic thin cut fries. For weeks now, he has had plain meatloaf every day. The next thing I know, he'll be renouncing his love of Hilary Duff and join a monastery.
At least I know he won't be turning vegetarian.
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