Busted

His scabby knees peaked through the gashes in his denim. “Lets talk about your knees, son.”
“Alright,” he said. He looked down, earnest, but down.
“You know the deal, bud—no knee pads, no riding.”
“I can explain.”
I waited for something that would explain the wounds still crispy with freshness.
“We were just cruising around (cruising is the only non-kneepad activity on a board allowable according to the rules of mom). We were in a big group taking some of the hills in the BPs (British Properties, a pretty poplular subdivision with local longboarders). Anyway, the deal was that we were all just taking it slow, and this one guy, he decided that he would take a big slide. But when your sliding past someone, or coming up from behind, you;re supposed to clap to let them know that your there, anyway, I didn't hear him coming and he just ploughed into me. Man, I don’t know what he was thinking. He was from Brazil.”
“Don’t think his nationality has anything to do with the fact that you didn’t wear the gear.”
“But it wasn’t my fault.”
Now this is a phrase that really gets me: ‘Not my fault’. “So would you say that because I’m a good driver, I don’t need to wear a seatbelt?”
“No.”
“Right, you can’t control the others around you. Right or wrong, if you get hit, you are the one injured. This can’t happen again.”
“Okay.” He said in a long drawn out kind of oooo kkkkk, the kind one says when they know they’ve been busted.
So, that’s kind of the way the conversation went. Then I looked up some more riding shots and low and behold there is my elbow-padless lad again. We need talk some more. I have more than my own set of eyes on him. The desire to have lots of pics outweighs the need to be totally discrete with how much gear he’s wearing. The photos look great. He knows it.
I can’t always be there. In fact, I’m often not. I have two children younger than him that are in more of the hands-on phase of their lives. He’s chosen a sport that doesn’t have many people his age doing what he does. Sure lots of kids skateboard, and many of them go down hills on their boards. But the long steep mountain runs and high speed races are something that mostly the more mature riders do. He’s with a crowd of adults, young and some even middle-aged (my god, like me). Most of them have the sense to encourage the right protective gear, and they all wear helmets.
That’s the crux of it. I’m not there, and I have to be comfortable with that. I have to trust that he’ll make the right choices. But then again, he’s fifteen and all I can be truly confident in is that he will make choices, whether or not they are what I consider right, well, that has yet to be seen. It’s all a part of growing up. I just want him to mature with as little damage as possible.
Note: When blogging about your kids, keep in mind that they may not agree with the details, nor the exact dialogue, nor the intent. But try to communcate with them about the content if you wish them to read it, (which in this case, I do)So, I have taken for accuracy, but I'm not a video camera, nor a tape-recorder. I'm a mom, and that's good enough for me. Hopefully that's good enough for him too.