“I normally wake up at 5:00 AM.”
My son Jack, who is 15 and a sophomore in high school, said this to me last night between dinner and bedtime and you know I ought to be forgiven for it having barely registered because, last I checked, this one woke up no earlier than 7:00 and only when (often quite literally) dragged out of bed. So I didn’t think much of it - didn’t even take it as a claim.
And furthermore, when his alarm went off at 5:00 AM this morning, it woke me up and kept sounding. Kept sounding. Kept sounding, until finally, after what could easily have been a minute, it stopped. I went back to sleep. 10 minutes later, Jack’s alarm came back to life. I got out of bed and went downstairs to make the coffee. When the grinder stopped, I noticed the sound of water running. I made a trip to the bathroom while letting the water filter through the grinds, poured myself a cup of coffee and heard Julie coming downstairs. Walked over to greet her at the foot of the stairs, to say “good morning” and all that, and so imagine my surprise when who emerged but Jack, showered, shaven, and dressed, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading for the front door.
“Jack,” I asked, “is everything ok?”
“I’m leaving,” he said. “See ya.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Daaaad. I told you yesterday. I’m going to Starbucks. I’ve been waking up early and going there before school.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To do work,” he deadpanned even though that is like the funniest joke he ever told, hands down.
“Homework?” I asked.
“No, I’m teaching myself to program,” he said. “Can I go now?”
I reached for a hug and even got a half-decent one, wished him a good day, and watched him walk down the porch steps and out of sight.
It was 5:50 AM, still dark. Foggy. Disorienting. It didn’t make any sense. I shut the door quietly, terrified to wake up anyone else.