First, back story.
For about two and half months now, Keaton Hickman has been a 16 year old driver of a vehicle.
He has a cool car and has waited his whole life for it. If you know me at all you've already heard this part, so here's the summary:
- Keaton worked hard and saved money to go toward a car.
- Keaton's mom is super proud and bragged about it whole bunch.
- Keaton's car is a new 2020 Mustang.
Immediately he began talking about all the things he was going to do it. All the ways he was going to make his cool car even cooler. These conversations came with trepidation from me and lots of "don't even think about it's" from Trey. We figured we'd made our point. Over and over again.
Two months passed. Summer. Keaton doesn't do sitting still very well, and I'm always thankful for his best friend who lives down the street because they keep each other pretty entertained. They build things. Keaton makes up random recipes and feeds whoever happens to be here (I hear the savory waffles with spicy syrup are great, but they were always gone before I got home). They toodle around with anyone's car who will let them. The mustang has been frequently washed and waxed.
Fast forward to yesterday, the second-to-last weekday of summer break. My phone rings.
Keaton: So, it seems I've locked myself out of the house.
Me: Huh? How did you do that?
Keaton: Well...I mean. I'm not sure. I mean, I know how I did it, but I'm still locked out. The keypad on the garage door isn't working.
Me: Why can't you use the clicker in your car?
Keaton: Well. Let's see. My car is sort of on blocks in the garage. And the garage is closed.
(This is part of the story where I remind you that Keaton REALLY needs to go back to school. And that his car is a new 2020 Mustang. Back to the story.)
Me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
Keaton: Why are you freaking out? I'm just taking the exhaust apart so I can decide what I want to fab to replace some of it. I need to see it and look at it so I'm really clear on what I'm working with.
Me: I'll be right there.
I run to my car and head home to check out exactly what the hell is going on in my garage. And maybe let Keaton back in the house if I don't kill him.
At the stop light, I text my parents because clearly this is my dad's fault.
I got home, opened the garage, and stared the kid down. I didn't say anything. I just looked at him with a look that says "you are insane and I can't believe you did this and you better hope you didn't do anything that you'll be sorry for you crazy kid."
I ran inside and grabbed a glass of water and remembered that this exact craziness is a gift. The kid has been taking things apart and putting them back together since he could sit up. I have a flash of a time when he was about five and I said to Trey, "Maybe Keaton will be a surgeon. It takes a certain kind of person to look at you, see you're sick, and say 'Hey, I'll tell you what. Let me cut you open and move some things around. I bet I can figure out how to fix you up.'"
Of course he's taking his car apart and putting it back together. And that might be his superpower.
Ugh.
I walked back into the garage. He doesn't even give me a chance to speak.
Keaton: Mom. I studied this car before we bought it. I research things about it every day. I watch YouTube videos and read articles and I know what I'm doing.
I channeled my inner Mike and Gale Greeson, parents who always encouraged us to not be afraid to figure things out and believed we could do anything given the opportunity. I told him he is the most capable person I know next to his Pop, and that his ability to work on things is a gift and I don't want to squelch it. I told him I was going to trust him, but I needed him to look me in the eye and swear he would not get in over his head. He did.
He then corrected me that his car was on jacks not blocks, demonstrated how incredibly stable it was because it was tied down and done exactly right, and I went back to work.
I made him text me every half hour the rest of the afternoon to assure me everything was okay. And it was. I have no idea what he did or didn't do because his incredibly detailed description included a lot of car words that I have no idea what they mean. I hope it's legal and good for the car and such, but how would I know? The car still seems to work fine, so there's that.
When I told Trey, he didn't have a heart attack or anything. That was particularly impressive.
And so I continue to live the experience of raising a clone of my father. The Greeson temper and almost annoying stubbornness (that we like to call "determination") are a small price to pay for this innate ability to construct, create, assemble, and simply make anything.
I'm sure I'll probably have to be reminded of that again and again and again.
It's not lost on me that had he not locked himself out of the house all of this would have happened and I wouldn't have been any the wiser. I'm a little concerned about what else might be disassembled and reassembled in my absence.
This kid. He's going to do great things. In the meantime, pray for me. Seriously.
The end.
