Monday, August 21, 2006

...he grew up in spite of the bricks


I used to tell my son I was going to put bricks on his head to keep him from growing taller, from growing up...

My one-and-only wonderful child turned 18 on Sunday. I am in awe of the young man he is becoming...he's handsome, smart, seems to have good common sense, and doesn't screw up too much (we think he's a genetic mutant - does not take after either his father or me, which is probably a good thing...). I think his father and I have done a pretty decent job of raising him so far, and he's done a pretty decent job of raising us, too.

He's a senior in high school this year, a football player, and he's taking his first college class. I have this one more year to have him underfoot (thank god) before he spreads his wings and flies (damn me and my "fly, little ones!" philosophy).

I try not to think about all the horrible things in this world that he faces in his future - just like I try not to think about the same horrible things in my future (there's a bit of Scarlett O'Hara in me...."I'll think about it tomorrow..."). I instead concentrate my engery on wishing for him the best of what's to come. He has brought out the best in me and his father over the years - and, at times, the worst - and for that I am forever grateful. But mostly, I'm very proud...of the son he is and the man he's becoming.

...guess the bricks weren't really needed after all...

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