The Gift

Thirteen years ago I was graced with a son.

Let me restate that: I was graced with a child. Sure, I wanted a son because I wanted the last name to carry on, but I wanted a healthy and happy baby.

His mother and I got that and so much more. Along came this beautiful little boy, with eyes that are reminiscent of my dad's, and a smile to match.

What I'm trying to say is that he was a great baby. We were truly blessed.

Thirteen. A teenager. Unreal. Where does the time go? Cliched, I know, but true.

We know the deal by now. He's not a sports fan. Yes, he has pictures of the Yankees and Steelers and Rangers in his room. He's met some athletes, but he couldn't pick them out of a lineup. It's fine. I like that he is himself.

I've loved the moments of talking about Pokemon, Transformers, Minecraft, and Doctor Who. I've loved watching Star Wars with him. I've loved our own things: trains and Waffle House and other silliness.

He's made mistakes. Good. He can learn from them.

But he's also made people laugh. He's shown class, grace, and dignity. He's learned from good people all around him: his grandparents, aunts and uncles,cousins, teachers, friends, and his mother. Hopefully he's picked up a thing or two from his father also.

I'm proud to be his father. Unless you're new around here, you know that.

The days ahead are scary. He's a teenager, and that comes with a whole new set of speed bumps. I just want him to stay grounded and level. I cherish  everything with him so much because it changes in a heartbeat. He still likes to have that moment when he is with me and he's going to bed. It's our moment. It won't always last.

My son, so named because we decided "Sam" wouldn't fly (um...Sam...ADAMS?) and given the middle name to honor his grandfather (thus Sean Robert), is a wonderful young man.

Thirteen years ago today, he came into the world.

He's a teenager.