by Harold McMillan

Although I'm not really that old yet, I now find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to take care of two aging parents. They don't really seem that old to me, but life's circumstances have necessitated that I stand up and be the strong one in the family. Being the only child has its benefits, to be sure, but there also comes responsibility with my role. Both of them need me. Plus, makes it harder that they don't live in the same house. But, I do what I can to help them along, go back and forth between their houses, try to dole out my love equally to both of them.

I am a student of life. I work on my art. I take care of the parents. And as often as I can, I make time for myself and my friends. To tell you the truth, sometimes I just need some time to do nothing. I need time to play, if you know what I mean.

I love my folks, but these two old fogies make me tired. They always have my days planned out for me. There's no break. I spend two or three days with my crotchety old man, two or three days with mom. "How you doing with your work, son?"

"Have you finished that piece of music you were practicing last week?"

"You know, I don't really know where you're getting all of that rap stuff, but I guess at least you're making the connection between the music and poetry. Just remember that jazz is what I want you to play eventually."

"Son, when are you gonna settle down and dedicate yourself to one instrument?"

And, "What about photography? Don't you ever use that camera we got you for your birthday?" They go on and on, always on my ass about something.

It's not that they don't love me. They do.

It's not that they don't trust that I am learning all I can and being a good student. They do.

It's just that they don't seem to understand that I have my own learning curve. I have to live my life, learn my own lessons, pick my own tunes. They forget that in addition to all of the pressure they put on me about "growing up," I still have to take care of them. Back and forth. Living on their schedules, trying to meet their needs. Trying to reassure them that they are doing OK. Being the strong, normal one.

I'm just a young man trying to live my life and take care of my youngish, but aging parents. I give them a lot of slack, humor them. But they really need to realize that, right now, my job is to study hard, make art, and play as much as I can. I'm still young. I deserve at least that. Right?

They ask so many questions. They have so many expectations. They're just lucky I don't give them an equal amount of shit about their lives. I mean, like I said, I give them all kinds of slack. Never have I asked for a complete explanation of why the two of these old geezers don't just live in the same house. It would make it a helluva lot easier on me. If for no other reason, the wear and tear on my instruments would be less.

I don't know, maybe I'm the selfish one here, but I sometimes just feel like they think it's all about them. I don't have anything better to do than take care of their needs. Deep down inside, I know they are probably doing the best they can. And although I bitch and moan about it, sometimes get mad and tell one of them how much better it is with the other old fart, I love them both.

I love them both, but at one time or another each of them really bothers me. Right now, my old man is on my nerves. Maybe it's because we're so much a like. Maybe it's because he's trying to live his life through me. Maybe it's because he doesn't realize that I have my own artistic voice, and I don't need him always telling me what to write, what to sing, what to play. Half the time when I'm at his house I can't get on the computer, can't play my music on the CD player (that is, if he's not trying to make me listen to some ancient piece of jazz vinyl), can't get the bass out of his hands -- there always seems to be a 32-bar bop progression that I just must learn.

That's why I'm up tonight. That's why I'm often up all night. I need my space to work. I've still got a few hours before the old grouch wakes up.

Right now I'm writing this on his computer. The old idiot loves Macs! After I finish this I'm gonna scramble his hard drive and turn off a bunch of software extensions. He thinks he's so smart. I humor him by calling him Mr. Smart Guy computer worker. The truth of the matter is that he works on his computers so much because I regularly get up before he does (he's lazy, really likes to sleep) and place little bombs in his system folder. Mr. Smart Guy has no idea why his computer keeps crashing. He cusses the machine. I smile to myself. Good job!

The way I get back at Mom is, when she's napping (and she naps a lot!), I take out her favorite old Nikon camera and I drop it, over and over. Then I spit on the lens, while drinking milk or apple juice, smear it. She's old and a bit slow. She has no idea why her camera doesn't work. I love it!

Neither of them have any idea why I like to stay up late. They think I just hate bedtime. I stay up all night to torment them.....speaking of torment, it's almost 7:30am now, and dad's gonna be waking up. I gotta get back in bed. The good thing is, today at school we get to watch Barney videos and make mud cookies!

I tell ya, it's not so bad being 3 years old. You can get away with almost anything...as long as you're as smart and cute as I am.

[Hayes McMillan is actually 3 3/4 years old and is the son of ADA publisher, Harold McMillan, an old fart now over 40. Harold is on vacation but returns to writing "Up All Night" next month.]