Out with my son

Out with my son age 15.  We don't see that much of each other nowadays.    We set off, and he complains that I do not walk fast enough.   My hips are aching, my breath is short.  He does not know I lost my fitness walking always slowly and stooping low with a toddler, and that toddler was him, and that it doesn't seem that long ago.

I invite him to walk on and go without me.

He wants me to come with him, he is grateful.  He experiments with cruelty.  He says goodbye.  He walks off.  I don't mind, I let him go.  After a short burst of speed he stops and waits, and thanks me for coming with him.  I irritate him, I embarass him.  I'm his mother.  He badgers me to finish my mushroom risotto in a plastic tub and insists I drink the smoothie on the way home.  I just can't eat any faster. I don't want to.    I talk too loudly in the metro.  He picks a fight.   He shouts at me, gets angry, he says he's BORED with hearing the same thing and strides off, not very convincingly,  enjoying the fact that I can't catch him up, noticing that I can waddle after him when I'm determined to make my point in the argument, which is all about doing things for his good.  "You should walk more.  You should get fit again Mum".

I see him in the metro crowds, the same shape, height and colour as all the other adult males.

When we've finished arguing not very convincingly, we talk about science, and alchemy, and the science of life, and transhumanism.   I'm aware I'm trying to pass him seeds of something, seeds in a packet for his pocket which he will carry into his life.   Seeds formed from my life, ready to be planted, but which don't look much for the time being, and might easily be lost in a dusty pocket.

I know I won't be out with this son for much longer.  I think the people who will go out with him will be lucky.