On nights like this, I wish my dad were here for a number of reasons, although I’m fortunate to feel his presence. Actually, after a period in which he temporarily slipped back into memory’s recesses, he’s been popping up a lot lately. (Spirits have a way of doing that, but as far as ghosts are concerned, fortunately my father’s lean toward the Casper side.)
The relationship I have with my sons, in many ways, mirrors the one I had with my father. With Nicholas, it’s by the periods of absenteeism, caused in my dad’s case by illness and in mine by divorce. (See “Fathers and Sons, Vol. 1.”) No matter where I was, however, I knew I was loved; I hope Nicholas feels the same.
My relationship with Ben is different, in part because of proximity. The simple fact that we spend as much time as we do together, often one on one, makes it different. The fact that he has spent much of the last 19 months in New York both simplifies and complicates the parent-child relationship.
At the same time, among my four kids, Ben’s personality, interests and wit are closest to my father’s.
Here are some recent quotes from my youngest teen:
• "I like snow, but when it doesn't give you a snow day, it's useless."
• "Friday always comes at the right time, just when I'm starting to hate school. By Monday, it's normal again, and I go back to school."
“La Cage Aux Folles,” the Broadway revival playing on 48th Street, occasionally will hold after-show karaoke in a nearby pub. One night, walking to the apartment, we passed a 6-ft-2 inch man in high heels, full makeup, dress and wig, smoking a cigarette. I asked Ben if the man was heading to karaoke. Without batting an eye, my teen said, "Well, if he's not, then he got all dressed up for nothing."
Those are the types of things my dad would say…
••••••
“They call me the Wanderer / Yeah, the Wanderer / I roam around, around, around.”
My father loved that song, and I’m sure wore the grooves off the 45 he had. If his life had been a reality show, the 1961 single by Dion and the Belmonts would have been a good candidate for the theme.
Dad enjoyed having time to drift. He could spend hours in a bookstore, or a junkyard, searching for parts to some old Cadillac he was trying to fix up. He enjoyed going to flea markets — the all-in-one version of a neighborhood yard sale — on weekends.
If he had a goal, or a purpose, he was extremely focused and would see it through until the end no matter the time of day or night. At multiple points during my childhood, he would wake me in the middle of the night — nocturnal is another characteristic shared by the three generations — to help him with an art project or to see an old movie on television that he would break down in detail.
No goal? No dice…
Ben is the same way. Like any kid — and like his father, much to Jill’s chagrin — he can procrastinate with the best. Spark his interest in something, however, and he masters it — quickly.
Example #1: The boy had no desire to get out of diapers. At age 3, we insisted and put him in pull-ups. After the first day, he asked if he could change to “big boy underwear” and pronounced that he was ready to use the bathroom on his own. The reason: He didn’t like pull-ups because they “bunched up,” and if he had to wear those, he might as well wear underwear. He never had another accident.
Example #2: At age 4, he wanted to ride a bike. After a couple of hours on training wheels, he came inside and asked why his bike had to have four wheels when the older kids’ only had two. We explained that he needed time to get his bearings and balance. He said he was fine — and he was, riding on two wheels that day.
Example #3: Ben did not enjoy singing until “Ragtime” two years ago. Thanks to his mom’s gene pool, he had a nice enough voice, but was not interested in training until he realized that singing was essential if he wanted to make it in musical theatre (and stay, yes, gainfully employed). So he learned the song for the audition, passed, and hasn’t stopped singing since.
Now we get a Broadway concert every time he takes a shower.
••••••
Things come naturally to him, but Ben possesses a work ethic unlike any child I’ve known. Not many teens can do eight shows a week, plus four hours of rehearsal and full-time school, and complain as little as he does.
If he cares about something, he is a perfectionist. After having only a limited interest in ballet, he has a goal and practices it constantly. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve had to ask him to stop doing pirouettes and fouettes in our apartment in the middle of the night.
Two years ago, Ben started making short films, editing them and posting them to YouTube. Self taught, he has built up more than 11,000 subscriptions on his bentwins10097 channel. If you ask which he loves more — dancing, singing, or acting — he finds it tough to give you an answer.
Like my dad, he’s a visual learner. And like his father and grandfather, he’s a huge movie fan. Recently he rewatched “Slumdog Millionaire” to compare the visual and music cues to director Danny Boyle’s “127 Hours.”
He’s very much a teen, interested in his Xbox 360 and his iPod Touch and learning the often-tangled ropes on relationships with girls. He still gets nervous when he’s facing a test in school or about to go on in a new role.
And yet, he’s still our little boy, not afraid to give me a hug in public, not ashamed to be seen talking to his dad or other adults.
The best part of this entire experience is when friends and relatives see him in New York. Quickly, they discover the things we already know, that no matter how crazy and nontraditional things are, he has not become someone else. He is still “just Ben.”
And that, folks, is anything but boring.
