Y’all, I think that I am officially getting old-ish.  My son, Gus, graduated from high school in May, turned 18 in July, and starts college in two weeks.  And much to my dismay, things are changing quickly—in his life and with the world in general. 

And all of these changes are making it fairly difficult for me to cut the apron strings and let the boy grow up.  Or it could be because he’s my only child, and I’m just not quite ready to let go.  Or because I’m afraid for him to venture out into the world on his own.  Or because I’m afraid that he will make bad decisions that he will regret.  But most likely because I am a control-freak mother, and I don’t know how to let go.  Nevertheless, times and trends, they are a changin’.  Case in point:

On Saturday evening, Gus attended a birthday party at a restaurant in downtown Hotlanta (and when I say hot, I mean it’s a freaking heat wave, y’all!) with a group of his friends.  And let me just start by saying that I’m not so sure how I feel about he-who-just-turned-18-years-old actually going downtown at night.  Without his mama.  (Shut up.)  The trek downtown entails almost an hour drive down I-85 (the Atlanta Autobahn), and it’s just not a safe road for anyone to be driving on at night.  Or in the daytime for that matter.

Anyhow, apparently I-85 should be the least of my worries, because the restaurant that these younglings went to?  Was also a hookah bar.  Don’t ask; just read…

Me: So, Gus, how was the birthday party last night?

Gus: It was fun.

Me: Where in Atlanta was the party?

Gus: I don’t know. Just in Atlanta.

Me: Ooookay. So, what was the name of the restaurant?

Gus: Ibiza’s. It’s a restaurant and hookah bar.

Me: Hookah? What’s a hookah bar? (As you can see, I am soooo worldly.)

GR (clear from the other room): Gus, did you just say that you went to a hooker bar?

Me: Wha?

GR (now in the same room): What do you mean you went to a hooker bar?!
(Note: I could be dying in the kitchen by grease fire, and GR would not get up from the living room to come into the kitchen. I’m just sayin’…)

Gus: Yeah, dad, I went to a hooker bar, and now I’m broke. Can you spot me a $10?

Me: Wha?

Gus: Dad, I said hoo-kah, not hooker.

GR: Oh. Well then, what’s a hookie bar?  (He said hookie.)

Well, after Gus gave us his interpretation and after doing a little bit of research on my own, it seems as if hookah bars are becoming all the rage of the college set.  God, I just sounded old saying that.  This article from the New York Times explains hookah: 

Hookahs, also known as water pipes, narghile or hubble-bubble, use charcoal to heat shisha, tobacco that has been soaked in molasses or honey and mixed with fruit pulp and flavorings. Most hookah cafes offer dozens of flavors: apple, mint, peach, raspberry, mango, strawberry, jasmine, coconut, rose and more.

So, Gus has been smoking flavored tobacco.  Out of a water pipe.  Okay.  I’m not quite sure how I feel about that, because the article goes on to say,

“Hookahs are not safe,” said Cathy Backinger, acting chief of the National Cancer Institute’s Tobacco Control Research Branch. “There are toxic compounds, including carbon monoxide. Hookahs also contain the tobacco-specific nitrosamines that are cancer-causing. Even though it’s coming through the water and feeling smoother, some studies show the levels of toxic compounds are at least as high, if not higher, than cigarettes.

And after a bit more research, it appears as if hookah bars are the new cigar bars—minus the stuffiness and with the added twist of belly-dancing, Arabic music, and colorful glass hookahs.  I’m just not sure what to think.  Maybe I should just go bury my head in the desert sand from which these Egyptian hookahs are made.  However, the control-freak/mother part of me will not allow that, so I plowed into Gus with a long-winded speech about addiction and cancer and the evils of downtown (wait, the evil downtown part was GR’s rant), etc., etc., ad nauseum until he explained to me that I was reacting as if he did go to a hooker bar, not a hookah bar.

All that I know is I just want Gus to be safe and to make good decisions.  He’s done well so far, and he’s going to be experiencing many new things at this stage in his life that should not entail his overprotective mother’s supervision.  If he wants to go to a hookah bar, then I guess that’s his decision.  I can’t hold his hand forever, but I can and will voice my opinion and concern. 

And I’m guessing that it’s time that I start cutting on those apron strings.  Anyone have a dull butter knife?  Or maybe a hookah so that I could just burn them off?