Sorry, Son, You are No Demigod

My oldest son and I are a lot alike, for better and worse.

One trait we share is that we get absolutely lost in books. So lost that we lose track of time, of where we are and who we are, and of that line between what's real and what is make-believe.

I recently finished Wally Lamb's The Hour I First Believed, a work of fiction that chronicles the lives of two teachers, married to one another, who taught at Columbine at the time of the massacre. There were days I felt I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. (Note: Do not read this book if you really do have PTSD.)

Earlier this summer, Luke and I were totally immersed in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan. For those of you not in the Lightning Thief demographic, the books are about a prepubescent, dyslexic New York City boy, Percy Jackson, who learns his mother, ahem, loved Poseidon, and Percy is the half-mortal, half-god son of the Sea God.

See, Percy's real name is Perseus. Remember from junior high that he was the hero who beheaded Medusa? Medusa was cursed with that snaky headdress by Athena after Perseus' pops, Poseidon, ahem, disgraced Athena with Medusa, ... how did I ever think this was boring back then?

It is a most enjoyable, imaginative series that has me interested in re-reading the Greek myths. I got into the books for Luke's sake, just as I got into the Twilight series to better relate to my teenage niece. (For those keeping score: Team Jacob.)

But I'm not about to suspect my friends of being vampires or werewolves. Luke, on the other hand, seems to think he's got some special skills in the water all of a sudden.

Percy, even before he knew of his special lineage, could swim like a fish and hold his breath under water for something like seven minutes.

Granted, Luke's a decent swimmer, but suddenly he's constantly testing how long he can hold his breath under water, to the point I feel I need to warn the pool life guards: "Do not be alarmed, this is only a test, and he will come up for air in about 15 seconds. In the event he doesn't, dive your skinny butt in there and save his."

To him, I say, "Luke, you are not the son of Poseidon. You are the son of two very mortal parents."

In fact, Kevin and I just had the discussion, again, last night as I defended the private swimming lessons Luke & TJ are now taking, about how he really ought to get himself some swimming lessons. With three children, I just think it's not about sport or recreation but about survival.

Because we are very mortal indeed.