Hermes the Imp

I can’t tell you how much I enjoy being a grandfather, especially the grandfather of a sixteen-year-old young man.

In the spirit of fairness, I must also point out that I adore the college sophomore, David. And while I’m (we’re) getting to know Alexa and Grayson, the new members of our family, we love them more each day.

Jon is a junior in high school, one of my favorite ages when I taught English many years ago. The difference between the sophomore and junior years is amazing, and kids somehow have not only a growth spurt over the summer between the years, but a maturity spurt as well. It is joyous to watch and be a part of.

Jon reminds me of Hermes, the Greek messenger of the gods. Hermes is the archetype of an imp. He was the god of travelers, and he used his wits to delight Zeus, his father (somehow every minor god’s father) - and still survive Zeus’ wrath, which was frequent.

Jon is like that. He is an imp, and a kid who uses his wits to delight - eventually - all those around him. A couple of his exploits lately:

He and his friends went to the local appliance store and begged boxes. Refrigerator boxes, stove boxes, washer and dryer boxes. Big boxes. They drew giant faces on the boxes, made little holes so they could see out, bigger holes for their arms, and put them on.

Now picture Jon and his friends - probably eight or ten of them - marching in a box parade down the street where Jon lives, a kind of Father-Knows-Best neighborhood with a well-tended houses, green lawns, and a canopy of mature trees. One neighbor, according to reports the Hermes of his own youth, stood watching them march down the street and shaking his head, speechless.

Or . . . How about a few weeks earlier when he and his friends all put money into a pot and climbed a tree. The last one to climb down would receive the whole amount of cash. I don’t know what they planned to do about potty breaks. They found a huge old tree with long, sturdy branches at a local elementary school one Sunday morning about 6 and climbed it. They sat in the tree chatting for a couple of hours until a custodian (in all senses of the word) came in for work, found them and chased them away. Each of the tree-sitting participants took their cash from the kitty and went for breakfast, a little disappointed, but still having a great time.

I never thought of the kind of things Jon does, let alone acted upon them, when I was his age.

He never ceases to amaze and delight me.