Coming Of Age...Slowly

I am currently raising a teenager. I know this because of tell-tale signs like little verbal tics that now creep into his everyday speech such as "what not." There is also a burgeoning interest in girls that tends to find expression in his assertion that "girls are weird." Clothes are strewn across the house and it often takes several minutes to penetrate the TV or computer screen haze that descends upon him at times of deep introspection. "Sorry dad. Youtube."
It's not like these changes occurred overnight. Several months ago he announced his intentions of "becoming a teenager." His mother and I know that it's part of growing up. Which is why Sunday was such a pleasure. We went to his piano recital, as we have since he started taking lessons. He played a medley of "Be Bop A Lula" and "Rockin' Robin." The first kid up was about six years old, and his selection was "Pat The Cat." Other kids played Green Day. Or Coldplay. They were older. My son fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. He played his heart out, and added some new jazzy flourishes to the piece I had heard a hundred times before at home. What made this year different wasn't his selection of music, but his quiet assurance as he sat down to play. He had been there before.
That was after lunch. Before lunch, we went to see "The Funniest Bubble Show Ever" up in Berkeley. Part of me wondered if that wouldn't be somehow beneath this incipient adolescent, but there he was, sitting on the floor, raising his hand to be included in the fun. He laughed and clapped enjoyed himself just like a kid. Not a little kid or a big kid. A happy kid. Good deal.