We didn’t have to mourn the woman who was becoming Claude because that woman never really arrived. Rather than progressing from childhood to womanhood, Claude grew up and became herself in a way that was naturally, even spectacularly, in between. Since then, Claude has been slowly but surely moving towards a destination, moving towards manhood on his own self-directed timeline. Where he lands on the spectrum is up to him; Like a carpenter who keeps an eye on a level, waiting for evenness, Cloud will know when his bubble has risen.
it’s impossible Be honest about the unpleasant qualities you have passed on to your children, without outwardly criticizing them. Sadly, being candid about himself has caused collateral damage to Claude, so I’ll be the first to say this without exaggeration or qualification: Claude is the most charming, infectiously positive, loving 20-year-old man I know. (And thanks to Claude, I know quite a few of them.) Claude has a natural gift of connection and an infinite warmth and openness, characteristics to which neither gender has special claim.
But Claude is a complex creature with competing instincts, some of which are more lovable than others. And, to be honest, almost every less savory quality about Claude could be attributed to me at his age. Biology is not destiny, and behavior is more learned than inherited, but the relationship is inevitable. Loose, carefree, mostly full of shit, that’s how I would describe my 20-year-old self, and Claude acts the man behind it in ways that are not specific to one gender or another, but have been perfected primarily by young men. Claude’s intentions are good, but his follow through is weak. He can be reckless and selfish and extremely creative in avoiding accountability. She suffers from FOMO and has an impossible need to please everyone, especially if it prevents her from going to the library or getting to work on time. (By the way, he faces all this and vows to do better.) But progress is slow.
I was a bit of a fucker at 19. A friendly, upbeat guy, but also a total fucker. And what’s worse is that I was a jerk, even exceptional at fucking. I had the impulse control of a kitten and the executive function of a mediocre fourth grader. I couldn’t bring myself to do a single thing I didn’t want to do When? I wanted to do this. There was not a single problem that I did not let run wild and free, expanding in size and severity. I was disorganized, undisciplined, and often drunk. I let things fall apart, hoping that vague charm and good intentions would somehow outweigh the tedious demands of class time and the accuracy of grade point averages, bureaucracy, landlords, and local and federal laws. And when charm didn’t win out, I relied on the kindness of others to help pick up the pieces.
By the time I turned 20, I’d dropped out of college, worn out my welcome on a half-dozen friends’ couches, jumped on the hood of a moving car in front of a house party, tried my hand as a drug mule when I should have been taking my midterm exams, and gotten a DUI that got my license suspended, something that, while failing to keep me from delivering sandwiches to the local deli, I would often brag about to my boss. Drove a VW Scirocco and was often in the snow. The extra carelessness is based on sheer stupidity.