Teenager is home...

He came down the escalator at the airport to the baggage claim/passenger greeting area with a new hat, a new teeshirt on, and new sunglasses, carrying his skateboard. He looked good, chattering about how he had skated at this neat skate park back in Tacoma, and had slipped and hurt his wrist a little.

I know come the time he is 40, he's going to be an achey old man, but right now, he sees each injury as some sort of badge of courage, a tangible proof he is tough, and no longer that crybaby little boy who couldn't take any pain.

We waited forever for his luggage to come. They had some sort of problem on the conveyer system. The crowd, a mix of the usual Utahns and about five guys who had to be basketball players, very tall, and who all knew each other.

We waited a long tine by one luggage carousel, but after getting the previous flight's luggage out, nothing happened. Someone noticed that there was another carousel that wasn't moving but had lots of bags just there with no people, and went to check. Yes, it was some of the bags from my son's flight. But only part of them.

Something had broken down. About thirty minutes later, it seemed, they got the rest of the bags out, and we finally got to leave the airport.

Son went on about how he was now over his old girlfriend - they had been having a lot of friction before he left, and now he declared, he was through with her.

So he comes home, gets immediately on the phone, and calls her up.

Three phone calls later, he comes downstairs and asks; "Can I go hang out with C---?"

I wish they would figure out how they want to relate to each other. This one day he loves her, the next day she's horrid is driving him (and me!) nuts.

It's good to have him home.