My son is all grown up. I mean, more than just chronologically or legally. He actually behaves like an adult. It’s kind of awesome, in the original sense of that word rather than the one generally followed by “dude!”
He came for dinner last night. Having seen that there were numerous things that needed doing around here that his father was having difficulty getting to, and not having to work until late afternoon today, he decided to stay the night so that he could spend today getting through a few of these tasks.
This boy -- this man -- who used to throw tantrums when asked to do chores, who would lose his temper the minute something went wrong, who thought he should be paid for having a pulse, of his own initiative helped us out, cheerfully and patiently and expecting nothing in return. He listened to what his dad calls his “old war stories” with every evidence of interest and encouraging questions.
He also put his dishes in the dishwasher and made his bed. If I wasn’t a believer in miracles before, I am now. It’s a miracle that happens to families every day around the world, of course. Our babies grow up to be the most amazing men and women, and we look at them with awe, and wonder how it happened, and how we got so lucky.