Cannonballing back home

A mere two weeks ago, my 19-year-old son was home for his first spring break. We had five fabulous restaurant meals and spent a day out skiing. Then he flew to the UK where he was surrounded by people. He spent his evenings in pubs, glued to the news as the coronavirus spread.

Pronto, he got himself back to his empty college campus and packed his things.

In three days, he’ll pull into the driveway with all of his belongings stuffed into his car. He’ll explode clothes and books and half-empty bottles of booze all over the floor of the room I’ve been using as my overflow office.

Last August, this boy of mine took a leap of faith in tiny St. John’s College in Annapolis. For about six months, he studied philosophy and ancient Greek, and wrote Euclid’s postulates on a blackboard with chalk. He talked long into the night with other kids who cared about such things.

We texted back and forth about Socrates.

After a serious case of high school senioritis, he was doing his reading and showing up for class. He was putting his whole heart into learning.

Over break, he told me this:

Some people waded onto campus, testing the waters as they went. Some dove in headfirst, parting the waters neatly and making few waves. But I cannonballed into Annapolis—creating chaos and making a splash.

Now he’s cannonballing back into my basement.

While I’ll love the company, having him home will be disruptive to say the least!

For him, the change of plans is tragic, for sure. But he’s also thinking practically.

What will he do if he becomes symptomatic during the drive home?

How can be sure he’s not contagious, possibly putting his 60-year-old mother at risk?

How much precious learning will be sacrificed by taking his 14-person seminar-style classes online?

The good news is that like his mother, he has become a modern Stoic. So he believes, as I do, that equanimity will go a long way in these trying times.

Finding tranquility won’t be easy. But there’s a rowing machine in the basement, and exercise will help take the edge off.

His life will slow way down for awhile. Who knows when there will be bars to tend again, or the need to serve double-mocha-half-caff-with-whipped-cream-and-a-cherry-on-top.

But here’s my one house rule: Even if I have to lock him in his room, I’m going to teach that kid how to quiet his brain.

I’m going to teach him how to meditate.