Emergency equipment

Parenting is much more an art form than a science. It's open to different styles, various interpretations and has different value depending on who's doing it.

But I think I'm safe in saying the one thing all parenting has in common is it's gonna cost ya.

Both of my kids have gone to out-of-state colleges, one in Texas and one in Iowa. Don't ask. Anyway the one in Texas transferred back here after his freshman year, but he still has a little gift I gave him when he first moved out.

The emergency credit card. They both have one.

It's the peace of mind card, the one that let's them take a cab home when they find themselves outside a club in the senseless murder district at midnight. The one that says use me at urgent care to stop the bleeding, or get antibiotics for the sinus infection. It's the airline ticket if they have to come home in a hurry.

Yes it's the credit card I gave them to be used in emergencies, but I now realize the other thing I should've given them is a long lecture on exactly what constitutes an emergency.

Buying posters from artists you like, new shoes, that cute sweater—you know the one, sushi because it's the best sushi place in Iowa (how many can there be?) are all examples of non-emergencies.

Yet every once in awhile, I put on my little green visor, open up the inter webs and go through the "emergency" charges my darling offspring have made. And almost every time, one or two of them will spring out at me like a Jack In The Box, or a coiled rattler.

That sound you hear is my wallet screaming.

I don't want to make it seem like they're on wild spending sprees with my money. They're not. For the most part, they let me know when they're buying something on the card, or they ask if they can.

But as any parent will tell you, it doesn't matter how old your kids get—they're always testing you and seeing how far they can push it.

And sometimes that means re-zoning the borders of Emergencytown right up against Retailville.

More power to me

There are a lot of powers I'd like to have.

I'd like to be able to fly like Superman. It'd get me where I need to go a lot faster, I wouldn't have to deal with those pesky TSA people, and I look absolutely fabulous in a cape.

Or so I've been told.

Invisibility would also be a good one, being able to move through the world unnoticed (of course I could accomplish the same thing by having a show on NBC), slipping into places unseen by anyone. This is definitely a power I would've put to much better use in high school. Now I think I'd use it mostly to get around taking out the trash and unloading the dishwasher. "Where's dad? He was here a minute ago."

Telekinesis is a favorite. I'd love to be able to have a driver flip me off on the freeway, then be able to flip them off the road by sending their car over the side rail just by thinking about it. Seems fair.

Sadly, I don't have any of those powers. The one I will have shortly is one I hope I never have to use. Power of attorney over my son's health and affairs.

As you might know, young Mr. Spielberg is going to one of the finest film schools in the country. That's the good news. The bad news, besides the tuition, is it's not in the same state as I am. So just like my weight, taxes and where my next gig is coming from, I file this power under things I don't want to think about but have to.

My boy will be a two and a half hour flight away, and that's provided the planes are leaving when I need to go. God forbid if something should happen where he's unable to make decisions for himself, either myself or my wife are going to have to make them for him. No parent ever wants to think about this. But the only thing worse than it actually occurring is not being able to do anything about it. I asked him to grant my wife and I power of attorney, and he'll have to sign documents giving it to us. As I was stumbling around trying to explain it to him, he took the opportunity to explain it to me: "It's like a fire extinguisher. You never want to use it, but it's good to have around if you need it."

Clearly he's already much more mature than I ever was at his age. Or even my age.

I'm taking this as a learning opportunity for both of us. I get to teach him to read this document - all documents - carefully before he signs them. He gets to teach me he's a capable, grown man - something I sometimes have trouble remembering (and realizing).

I finally understand why parents treat you as kids no matter how old you get. He's always going to be my baby boy no matter what state he's in or how old he is.

The other thing the wife and I are forced to consider is that plane ride I was talking about. If events were moving fast, there's the very real possibility we wouldn't be able to reach him before decisions needed to get made.

Fortunately, I have a great friend named Cameron who lives in the city where he'll be. He's graciously offered to be my son's boots on the ground while we're not there, and not just for emergency situations but for homecooked meals, advice and anything else he needs as well. Cameron's included in the legal document as the alternate after the wife and I, so there won't be any question about his authority should it ever come to that. I'll never be able to convey how much of a relief it is knowing he's there for my son, or how thankful the wife and I are.

So tomorrow morning, we sit down with our lawyer and he'll sign the papers. And I'll try not to think about what they actually mean.

I guess that is one more power I have. The power of denial.