Adventure Buddies

One of the last walks I had with Alexander was in our neighborhood. We discussed the pros and cons of a gym we just toured and then eventually turned to one of my college essay clients. Alexander surprised me when he said, “You know, I think you are very good at what you do. You not only help with the essays, but you help them with self-reflection.”

That stuck with me as I had never thought of myself so succinctly. I always felt I helped kids believe in themselves by telling a personal story that showcased their strength, or superpower. In the end, every kid spoke a little more confidently and walked a little taller. I would like to give back to Alexander and show the world his superpower as if he were one of my sweetie-pie clients and of course my favorite. (Not part of the original, but I would like to add as much as kids dislike the personal statement for college applications, in the right hands, this can be a positive experience. It’s the one time kids can be proud of their amazing selves. I think this exercise should be repeated for college grads too, to remind them of their awesomeness. This was the inspiration for writing a eulogy in this way.)

Alexander the Great. That is the name my mom gave me to help her remember I go by Alexander now, not Alex after twenty-two years of my life. I like being Alexander and especially Alexander the Great even if I threw my family for a loop. It’s still a work in progress so if they relapse, I gently remind them with “Alexander if you will.”

I knew what I was doing even if it didn’t make sense to my family. That happened a lot actually. I could see things clearly so much faster than any of them. My parents fully admitted I was the wisest in our family when I was just five years old. And they only had three years tops of material to go on at that time because it’s not like I was talking right out of the womb. (It’s in the quotes book my mom kept on her boys, so I’m not making this up.)

When I was about four, I was wriggling around on my Dad’s back, my arms wrapped around his neck, all smiles. I loved snuggling with him.

“Daddy, I Chinese.” I proudly shouted.

My mom heard me and chimed back, “You’re Irish too.”

“Do I look Irish?”

Mic drop, if there was one back then.

When my older brother lost his little stuffed pig, Sniffy, we thought he was gone forever. While we were vacationing, we found a basket full of stuffed pigs of all sizes in a fancy grocery store in Southern California. My family stood around debating whether to get Sniffy again or something bigger or both. I grabbed another Sniffy and said, “Let’s go.” They followed me out like little lambs.

As I got older, I binge-watched Glee with my mom but I made her promise not to tell anyone. I know a good show when I see it but I also know my peers would never let me live it down. We binged Breaking Bad too and I wanted to tell everyone but my mom said it would not look good in her friend group.

I knew how to protect us both like the time she decided to chaperone Cotillion in 8^th grade. I told her what to wear and to stand way in the back. And don’t for one second even consider dancing with anyone. She was disappointed, but I knew what was best in a way a mom doesn’t for a thirteen-year-old.

My mom thought I was crazy to sell my cool black Jeep and buy a bright candy-apple red Prius.

“Your market value for dating will drop!” she advised.

“Mom, if a girl doesn’t like me because of my car, I don’t want to date her!” I stood my ground. I was graduating college in five months and I was setting my budget for living expenses. Gas is expensive. A month after I bought the Prius, gas prices skyrocketed.  I was wiser than even I thought possible that time.

I’m still wiser than my family even from the other side. I knew my mom would be racking her brain about particulars to make it perfect. My birthday parties were sick like the SpiderMan theme with a web of string leading to a Spidey toothbrush for each guest. Or the time we delivered invitations in disguise for a top-secret spy party.

So, I jumped into her dreams to help her plan. I sent a pan shot of the LOPC sanctuary. I picked out the dress she should wear and if you know my mom, that’s pretty funny. (She’s a personal stylist.) I picked the guest outfits too. To keep her calm and direct her to my preferred musical style, I sent her a refrain from Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds to play over and over in her head: Don’t Worry About A Thing. Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright.

Your ever-loving and very wise son,

Alexander The Great