Called Up

On the conversion course exam, there was a question: "Mazel tov, you have a new baby. What do you do now?"

You were supposed to rattle off a series of life-cycle events: bris, pidyon haben, bar mitzvah, whatever. 

I did all that, then added at the end, "Start saving for a Jewish day school."

When YM came along, we didn't, of course. Because he was so little, such a ball of nothing that it was frankly hilarious that he would ever sit upright, let alone go to school.

We laughed and laughed when he got his first prescription. It was like the doctors thought he was human or something. Like a week or two before, he hadn't even existed except as a tummy fish, and now he had a bottle of medicine with his name proudly printed on it.

When we made aliyah with our younger two kids, the army was similarly theoretical.

GZ was a ball of nothing. A smart but noisy, cute but snotty ball of nothing who was prone to screamy fits. We knew he'd have to go into the army someday, but honestly - it was hilarious that anyone would want him for any kind of army.

Last summer, he received his Tzav Rishon - his first summons. The army has decided they want him after all.

And who wouldn't? Over the last 12 years, he's grown into a smart, savvy, capable young man.

Because we kept him back a year, he's 17, just a few months younger than many of the fine young men and women already serving all over the country.

On Monday, he'll go and let the army check him out and then return to his normal life. He and his peers still have another year and a half of high school before they are soldiers.

So for now, we can keep pretending it's hilarious. 

I know so many parents who have been through it already. But that's different, I tell myself. Their boys were big; men, practically, when they were called up.

And then I look at GZ. He's practically a man. Practically a soldier.

But not quite yet. For now, it's still a little bit hilarious.