Tackling the Teen

Last Friday saw me heading down to the Victoria Station to meet my nephew off the train from his home near the South Coast. This was, you understand, in lieu of his father, my brother, who had to attend to some business at work.

Elliot is in a not unusual position: he is the child of now divorced parents so has become used to this system of shuttling between one parent and the other.  So, there I was, standing in the designated spot (between an escalator by W H Smith and a rather ignominious pillar) when he suddenly emerges from the crowd with his stepfather. We exchanged pleasantries before Elliot was officially passed to me in a manner reminiscent of some East German spy being handed over to the West at checkpoint Charlie.  Am I showing my age here?  Probably ....

As luck would have it, access to the Tube at Victoria Station immediately closed due to over-crowding and it was about fifteen minutes before we were on our way down to the platform. We couldn't actually get onto the platform and worryingly it looked like every other person has some sort of luggage with them. There is such a rush to get onto the train when it pulled in, that one woman with a baby in one of those baby-carrier-contraptions strapped to her back, almost has the child sliced away from her, as she decided to get on when she spots 3 inches of space inside, just as the doors start to close, causing much vocal criticism and sucking of teeth from another female passenger who, I suspect, is still going strong now.   In fact there were a few gasps of concern from a lot of people except, I noticed, the mother! Elliot and I decided to wait for the next train and managed to get wedged in behind a bloke with two of the largest suitcases I'd ever seen, but soon we're on our way, with me secretly bemoaning the fact that we're so wedged in, we'll either pass out in the heat or never be able to get off at our stop. Oh the joys of travelling on the London Underground in rush hour.

As we head towards home I called my brother who, having not seen his son for a couple of weeks, immediately launched into what I assume was standard issue parental interrogation, and the responses which came firing back were, I assume, the standard issue monosyllabic 15 year old replies: "yes", "yes", "no", "OK".   Then we moved on to the case of the missing sunglasses which, by all account, Elliot possesses but, in true 15 year old form, had forgotten to bring with him in advance of their onward trip to a very sunny South of France.   Suddenly I heard "0-0. Gervinho sent off", which meant world order was restored and we could all breath a sigh of relief because the conversation had changed to football, indicating the interrogation was over (for the time being!).  My poor brother, a life long Tottenham Hotspur fan, seems to have spawned an  Arsenal fan which if you're a North Londoner (or have the remotest interest in football) must be one of the funniest things (certainly from a sister's point of view) but also one of the cruellest from a football supporter's point of view.  However, hats off to my dear bro for not dressing him at birth in Spurs baby-gros and allowing him to find his own team in his own way!

Elliot's always found his own way, as I remember him fervently supporting France when he was very young and they were playing England in a World Cup match.  He was oblivious to the fact that he received very strange looks from the other mothers and fathers in the school where they were watching the game together.  Well, when I look back, I think the French team was made up mainly of his heroes from the Arsenal team.

When we got home, Elliot took his case up to his room, while I scuttled off and managed to dig out an old pair of Hubby's Ray Bans which I gave to Elliot, strictly on loan you understand, and was instantly propelled to the status of "completely cool aunt" for all of about ten minutes.

On Saturday, I started to realise the awful truth.  The little boy who used to run to me for cuddles and carries is growing up fast (too fast for my liking).  He's too cool to use the term "Auntie" when he addresses me.  I, however, still refer to my aunts and uncles as exactly that.  Call me old fashioned! He's now taller than me (not a huge leap, given my short stature) so instead of hide and seek and serial repeat viewings of Disney movies (Cinderella normally!) I was treated to furious texting between him and assorted friends, ("she's only a friend" was a phrase I heard a lot over our time together) followed up by requests of "have you got Rush Hour on DVD" and settling down to watch Austen Powers together!  How time flies.  Lordy!  I came to realise the hormones were kicking in.


We went for a belated birthday trip to the cinema, and the young master chose to see Captain America; well yes a Disney movie, but I didn't spot a cute mouse in clothes anywhere, hard as I looked.   There began an afternoon of wartime mayhem with a hero with a silly suit, shield and mask, and a suitably evil Hugo Weaving as the delicious baddie.  (When will that poor guy get to play a goodie?  Frankly I'll always prefer him in The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, but maybe he's tried to over compensate!)  However, I must confess Captain America was a rather good film in the tried and trusted 'good-triumphs-over-evil' kind of way.


The young master also wanted some more books to read (and being glad he can actually read with our Education system - don't get me started), we made a beeline straight into Waterstones.  Imagine the look on my face as we came out with three Jeffrey Deaver crime thrillers.  When did that happen?  When he became 15 I suppose!  I also took the opportunity to treat myself to a copy of Lord of the Flies, which was being offered at the till - well it only seems right after the events of the past week around the country.

On Sunday, we awaited the arrival of Daddy Dearest who met us for lunch before whisking our nephew off, in preparation for their trip to Nice.

All in all I think we are rather blessed with our nephew, whom I adore like crazy.  He's clever, sweet natured, funny, has survived with great stoicism the fall out between his parents which, despite the passing years doesn't seem to get any better, and is starting to grow into a lovely young man. I'm trying to remain 'down with the kids' and despite the great embarrassment I cause him by referring to him as 'monkey' and 'sweetpea', which I used when he was tiny, he actually still seem to like them so let the embarrassment continue!