Adapting to new living arrangement

Six months ago, I wrote in this space that my 28-year-old stepson, Erik, was moving back home. He had been gone for 10 years, four in college and six living a marginal sort of existence in Los Angeles while he tried to turn some con- siderable writing skills into a living. Several of his plays were produced, sev- eral others had public readings, and he was once nominated for an Ovation Award for writing the best new play in Los Angeles that year. But these successes didn’t translate into a live- lihood, nor did getting to the edge, but not quite over it, in landing a TV writing gig.

And so we came to a family decision. Because the biggest nut in his Los Angeles budget was rent, the only tangible way we could extend his full-time efforts to break into film writing was to offer him his old bedroom rent free.

We did that six months ago, with a short list of conditions. First, the arrangement would last a year; if he hadn’t conquered Hollywood by then, he would look for some other means of support for a place of his own. Second, he would give up his room without grumbling whenever we had overnight guests. And, third, we would mutually try to minimize whatever dislocations might take place in the comfort of our living companions as a result of this arrangement.

Six months seemed time to take stock, so I interviewed Erik to explore his reactions to moving back to his old room at home. That was yesterday, and unfortunately I’m writing this right after putting a load of clothes in the washer and discovering that he had cut out, leaving the dryer full of his clothes ? which I will have to remove and which happens rather often. I will try earnestly not to let that influence this report.

He said his first and greatest worry was that we wouldn’t let him be an adult and have his own life ? that his mother would be sleepless every night until he got home and “that rules for kids would be laid on a grown man.” That, he says, hasn’t happened, and he was quick to add early on that he was “incredibly grateful for the opportunity to spend most of his days in writing.”

His first concern about his own behavior was that “being back home might make it too easy to become a teenager again” and so he would have to fight against “falling into the role he played with his parents as a kid ? surly and bratty and feeling entitled ? which made it more difficult to appreciate the gift ? [his parents] were offering.”

I think his mother would agree with me that this hasn’t happened, either.

Erik took a harder line when he got into contrasting his current lifestyle with that of Los Angeles.

“What I miss most,” he said, “is the feeling the city gives me that a million different things can happen on any given night. It’s impossible to do anything spontaneous here. I really miss my L.A. friends, and although it’s only an hour’s drive, it isn’t spontaneous any more. In L.A., there were night people and writing groups, and I went out a lot more, whether planned or not. That doesn’t happen here. There’s not much in the way of food options or good movies ? and everything shuts down at 11 o’clock except Denny’s. I have friends here ? actually there are a lot of people I know moving back home ? but it’s difficult trying to get your life together at 28 in an environment you’ve already left years behind.”

His only real outrage toward local living, however, is directed at the street sweeper.

“Newport Beach,” he said, “owes me for three tickets I got for parking on the street on sweeper morning. Los Angeles sweeps the streets one side at a time, so people can park on the other side. In this neighborhood, there is nowhere for people to park.”

Domestically, the major point of contention ? at least for me ? is the chaos in his room, which regularly resembles a locker room floor after a game. We keep his door shut, but it irritates me, trained early on by the Navy to make beds with square corners.

By way of explanation, he says: “I’m just naturally untidy. I try, but I simply don’t know how to be tidy.” As an afterthought, he adds: “I didn’t have to pick up my clothes in L.A.” This issue surfaces especially “when I have to clean my room for the cleaning lady” ? a drill he has accepted simply as a cost of living at home.

We, in turn, allow the chaos as long as it isn’t exported to other parts of the house.

Most of these matters are clearly irritations more than issues. When the irritations occasionally come back-to-back, there might be stress briefly, but it passes because we all want it to pass. Probably the best example of the positives that can grow out of this lifestyle are our Wednesday night dinners, purely Erik’s creation.

“When I was living in LA,” he explained, “I used to come down to see you guys. Now, we’re roommates, and we’ve had less quality time as roommates ? just ships passing in the night ? than we did when I came visiting. So we needed to make a special effort to connect.”

That turned into our Wednesday night dinners that include my daughter, Patt, as well as Erik. We sit around a civilized table for a couple of hours and unwind and laugh and connect every Wednesday. It works.

But Erik has no reservations about getting out in another six months.

“No matter how good it has been otherwise,” he says, “moving back home was purely an economic matter. I want a place of my own. If I’m not making enough money from my writing to support myself in the next six months, I’ll look for a job but not an alternate career. I’ve never lost confidence in myself or faith in my talent.”

Neither have his mother and I. But for his sake as well as ours, we’ll be pleased when he has his own lifestyle back, especially if he connects with Hollywood before that move takes place.

But however it comes down, we would very much like the Wednesday dinners to continue ? even if they aren’t spontaneous.