For seven years I've been telling stories about the trajectory of my son: my one and only. Often, when I'm accosted by those who would like to plan my family and would love to have my wife and I generate three or four more to spread the joy that we have enjoyed with this poor lonely child, I politely decline. My reasoning is based squarely on the law of averages. I never studied law, but I believe that if we got as lucky as we did with this one, it's hard to imagine what spinning that wheel even one more time might unleash upon an unsuspecting world.
That's how impressed I am with my son. If the only news you get about this kid comes from the lines of this blog, you might believe that he is rough around the edges or at times unmanageable. These are the reflections of a parent's learning curve. When I am confounded by some new twist or turn on the parenthood trail, I squirm and holler, expecting that no one has ever experienced the woes or anxiety that have beset me. So I respond in the only way I know how: I complain about it here.
Here is where I should set the record straight: This is a wonderful boy, who is doing his best with a load of varied input that we, his parents, are making up as we go along. Not that we're not doing a pretty good job. We've got some pretty decent examples upon which to draw, and some of our innovations have made this kid one to watch. Here's the example I'd like to put forward: The other day, as he was in his usual rush out the door to school mode, he stopped and came back in the house. He grabbed a pair of scissors and was back out the door again, only to return a moment later with a fully bloomed rose from the bush at the bottom of our front steps. He presented this to his mother and then was off he went. Kudos to the kiddo.
Today my son is fifteen years and hundreds of stories old. Thanks to you for sitting still as I work out my parenting issues, and congratulations to my son for surviving the process.