It’s in the genes
Posted March 28, 2010on:
Nearly eighteen years ago, I fell in love. Blind, complete, awe-inspiring, breathless love.
In May of 1992, I met my newborn son and life began for me… everything up until that moment was just a prelude.
In the years that have passed since his birth, I’ve run the emotional gamut. Up-all-night exhaustion when he had his first fever. Worry when he wasn’t gaining enough weight. Heart-clutching terror when he fell down a flight of stairs after I’d failed to latch a gate. First steps, potty training, removing the training wheels, putting him on the school bus, kissing boo-boos, rebuilding his shattered self-image after a tense sixth grade filled with bullying, rebuilding his shattered self-image after his first unsuccessful date, the hair-pulling tension of driving lessons, and the countless smiles, giggles, and “I love you, mom’s” – yeah. You get the idea.
Why do we do this? Why does the human animal put itself through such torture… not merely with full knowledge and consent… but with hand-rubbing glee?
I watch him, when he thinks no one’s looking. I marvel in his tenderness when he cuddles his newborn cousin. I smile secretly when I hear him defend his younger brother. I laugh out loud when he shouts at the television, seeming so much like his father, I feel like I’ve been sucked through a worm hole back to the ’80’s.
It’s a simple matter of pride. Over these nearly eighteen years, there have been so many moments where the pride washes over me like a tsunami – so strong, so elemental, surely I’ll be crushed under its weight.
It is with great pride that I share with you my son’s own blog.
My son attends college this fall. He wants to be a writer.