A Different Drummer: Comfort zones begone

I got dragged out of my comfort zone repeatedly last week by my teenage grandsons, and though I struggled and grumbled along the way, I had a good time looking back. It was therapeutic. It made me realize how much fun exists just over one’s invisible barriers.
“We’re watching the boys for four days next week,” my wife informed me, warned me. Tyler drives now, owns a car, and has two jobs. Jack starts 9th grade this fall. They’re growing like sprouts.
“We will need an itinerary,” I said. “A schedule of fun. I’ll plan a few activities.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Susan. “Tyler and Jack both have ideas of their own.”
“But they’re coming to our turf where we know the terrain,” I didn’t say, but thought loudly. “They’re just little boys. I’m the consummate tour guide. I know what’s fun for kids,” I mused.
Her hand on my shoulder, Susan, being married to me, could read my thoughts. “It’ll be fine, honey. They both need your help.”
“What? What?” I said in feigned ignorance and curiosity.
“Jack wants you to help him create a painting for his bedroom wall. Tyler wants to go to San Francisco.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. No problems. I’ve created a few paintings. I have brushes, oils, and canvas. San Francisco is my backyard. I know it like the raised knuckles on my hand. “Bring them on,” I said.
Mentally reviewing my paint supplies, I found big tubes of white and blue. We will paint the sky, I decided, and fill it with puffy clouds wrapped in shadows and streaking light, perfect for his new bedroom wall. Our daughter’s family recently moved into a new house and his walls are bare.
“Oh, yes,” said Susan before leaving the garage. “Jack wants to do a Jackson Pollack painting, and Tyler wants to visit the Castro.” She threw me those two curve balls and popped out the door.
Jackson Pollack? I don’t know how to paint in his abstract style. I like to paint things and stuff. You can’t throw oil paint at a canvas. It would be like flicking boogers. Perhaps I can sway Jack into making an epoxy table. I tried, through channels, Nana, the parents, but Jack was adamant. We’d taken the boys to the Manhattan museums last year, and he saw several Pollack paintings up close. That was his creative trigger.
Comfort zone shattered, I began studying abstract painting styles and buying acrylic paints at Michaels, but Jack didn’t need much training. He splattered paint in the yard, hit the canvas a few times, and created a masterpiece.
The Castro? Not a problem. BART to 16th and Mission, walk six blocks, there it is. I’ve taken many East Coast guests there. Comfort zone back intact.
We took the ferry to Market Street. After a Blue Bottle coffee break in the Ferry Building, I begin shuttling the family toward the nearby BART Station. That’s when the second curve ball missed my bat. Tyler spoke up as we walked around the back wall of the broken pipes fountain in Justin Herman Plaza. “Why do we have to take BART? We always take BART.”
“Uber?” I suggested?
“No, the Muni,” said Tyler. “I want to learn the San Francisco bus routes.”
Oh, Lordy. “But, well, but, I… we usually walk everywhere. We’ve been on the cable cars.”
“We take taxis or drive our own car,” added Nana.
Tyler was incredulous. “Papa, you mean to tell me after 40 years here you’ve never taken the Muni?”
I shrugged. “Nana and I once took the Judah Line from here to the ocean at Golden Gate Park, seventeen years ago.”
“Well, we want to ride to the Castro in one of those old-fashioned electric street cars, don’t we, Jack?” asked Tyler. Jack nodded.
Tyler proceeded to make us fidget. “So, Papa, Nana, which light-rail line do we take? Where do we get on? How much does it cost? Do we need exact change? Where do we get off? Do we need to transfer?”
Susan and I looked wide-eyed at each other, our comfort zones in tatters. All four of our hands went up, palms flat, like we were carrying invisible plates of food to the table. “You got us,” we said.
“Come on, let’s figure this out,” said Tyler, cell phone in hand, as we trotted behind him up Market Street. He studied his phone screen for a good 10 seconds. * “It looks like we can take the F Line at Battery Street and get off on 17th Street. Nana and Papa, you can use your Clipper Cards. Jack and I pay $2.75 in cash, exact change.”
Susan and I looked wide-eyed again. “It was that easy?” I said to her. “It’s taken us our whole lives to learn this,” she said to me.
We rode a jolly trolley. I gave Tyler a big Papa hug for getting us onboard. We strolled Castro and the boys saw that except for the rainbow banners and a few witty business names, the street looked a lot like the rest of the city. We wandered through clothing stores. That was great fun. However, the boys were expecting more. Luckily, just before leaving the area, a naked man walked by wearing only shoes and a ring, carrying a briefcase.
Everybody’s comfort zones got a jolt.