Less than 24 hours to go. So far, we’ve covered cars, sweets and soccer. It’s hard to nail down the last one. He’s turned out to be a fine young man, with a bright mind. He’s going to major in history. One step at a time.
He always loved stories about heroes. The books we’d read at bedtime were about brave boys, sometimes with sharp swords, who rescued friends and protected grandmothers. He’d request special stories to be made up on the spot about him, slaying dragons, fighting tigers, flying jets, always with the coolest weapons, ready to save the day.
He has soft spot for senior citizens, which is unusual for his age group. When he was a wee fella, my husband’s grandmother was still living, so he had a great-grandmother. She fell (horribly) in front of him at a very young age (around 4 years old, I think) and eventually died of complications from her injuries. He told me then that if he’d been bigger he could have saved her. He’s brought it up several times, just in conversation. It usually takes me by surprise and I have to excuse myself for a while for a quick cry. The last time was just a few years ago. It’s touching in that he already understands that being a hero sometimes involves tenderness and sacrifice.
I’m hanging in there, but it’s getting harder to keep it together.
Webutante said,
May 28, 2010 at 7:29 am
Utterly adorable post and pic!
webutante said,
May 28, 2010 at 7:31 am
Too adorable for words!
James said,
May 28, 2010 at 7:46 am
I like your comments about ending a family chapter. You deserve to be proud. As farmers with weather-caused delays, our son’s graduation was merely a break in an otherwise hectic working day. When we took him to college, he programed all of our electronics as if we were leaving on vacation. We all went to a movie the night before, and our daughter took me aside and whispered “I don’t want to graduate. I don’t want any of this to change.” She was happy as a high school junior. I had to agree.
An letter from the 1880’s from my ancestor to a friend said “the last of our daughters has left home. Our house seems so empty and quiet.” We have another letter written in the 1920’s with almost the same words. My mother unconsciously set an extra plate after I left for college. An empty nest is quiet whether it belongs to barn swallows or humans.
My wife teaches school, and we attended over 40 graduation parties in two weeks. All of the parents were proud and a little sad. Hang in there and be proud. You have raised a wonderful young man.
Obi's Sister said,
May 28, 2010 at 9:49 am
Thank you, James.
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