Twenty years ago, gas cost $1.11 a gallon (well, that was the national average, anyway). Bill Clinton had just taken office as President. Tonya Harding had someone whack Nancy Kerrigan in the knee and out of Olympic competition. David Letterman hosted the Oscars ("Uma, Oprah. Oprah, Uma."), and Forest Gump won for best picture. Whitewater was the big news story.
I lived on South Boulevard in Nyack, New York. And on this day twenty years ago, I was in Good Samaritan Hospital on a snowy day, about to give birth to a baby boy.
Get two or more women who have had children together and it's inevitable--the labor and delivery stories will start at some point. And the reason for that is that even if we can't tell you what we had for lunch yesterday, or we forget what we were at the grocery store for, we remember every detail of the day we brought a child into the world. My mom can still tell you the details of all of her deliveries, and the youngest of us is almost 45. It's kind of a big deal. So sue us.
But today, on the day my boy turns 20, I'm not celebrating the details of the delivery--I'm celebrating the twenty years that have followed it. Since it turned out that I only had the one child, I am awfully glad it turned out to be this one.
This is the boy who, as a toddler, never wanted anyone to be left out. One of the teachers at his daycare told me that he always seemed to know how to include the kids who were on the fringes.
The boy who wanted his mom to have pretty things: Seeing one of those jewelry store commercials with the special Valentine's Day diamond necklace, he said, with great feeling, "Oh, Mommy, I wish you could have that!"--which, to be honest, made me grateful he didn't have access to that much money, because I despise those mass-produced pieces of jewelry. Him wishing I could have it was gift enough for me.
The boy who had a solid grasp on the concept of sarcasm by the time he was in the 2nd grade. He was with a friend and the friend's babysitter, and he informed them that he was being sarcastic with some comment he had made. The babysitter asked him, "Do you even know what sarcastic means?" And he responded: "It's like, if you're on a date and you walk into a pole, and she says, 'Niiiiiice.'"
This boy, said his fourth-grade teacher, was not necessarily a leader, but he wasn't a follower, either. He wasn't afraid to stand alone rather than go with the crowd if he didn't want to. Would it be nice to have a kid who is a leader? Sure, I suppose so... but you have to admire a kid who will stand alone if need be.
This boy told his father, when we were in the midst of the worst nastiness while we were going through our divorce, "When you talk to Mommy, it's like you keep using a hammer when you should maybe use a screwdriver." I couldn't have said it better myself, kid.
When he was applying to get into the high school he went to, he needed letters of recommendation from various people, and I've saved the one from his school counselor because her description of him was so beautiful that it still makes me tear up with gratitude. "Though I am a clinician, and therefore often describe students I work with in clinical terms, this is what I most wish to emphasize to you about [him]," she wrote. "He is a delightful person." And, she went on to say, "He is, in fact, one of those lovely people with whom the world is graced, who seeks and is attracted to harmony."
My boy is not easy to get to know, and there are things that are hard for him in life because he is different from most people. But that difference means that I made it through the entirety of his teen years without him ever being disrespectful or nasty or any of those other things that people think of when they think of teenagers.
That difference is the reason I still think of him as my boy and will fight to protect that tender heart of his. For twenty years now, I've been the one who's lucky enough to see facets of him that others miss, because they're not looking, or because they're expecting something from him that's not there. But what is there is so worth finding, and anyone who makes the effort to see him as I see him will find a real treasure.
Happy birthday, dear boy of mine.
I lived on South Boulevard in Nyack, New York. And on this day twenty years ago, I was in Good Samaritan Hospital on a snowy day, about to give birth to a baby boy.
Get two or more women who have had children together and it's inevitable--the labor and delivery stories will start at some point. And the reason for that is that even if we can't tell you what we had for lunch yesterday, or we forget what we were at the grocery store for, we remember every detail of the day we brought a child into the world. My mom can still tell you the details of all of her deliveries, and the youngest of us is almost 45. It's kind of a big deal. So sue us.
But today, on the day my boy turns 20, I'm not celebrating the details of the delivery--I'm celebrating the twenty years that have followed it. Since it turned out that I only had the one child, I am awfully glad it turned out to be this one.
This is the boy who, as a toddler, never wanted anyone to be left out. One of the teachers at his daycare told me that he always seemed to know how to include the kids who were on the fringes.
The boy who wanted his mom to have pretty things: Seeing one of those jewelry store commercials with the special Valentine's Day diamond necklace, he said, with great feeling, "Oh, Mommy, I wish you could have that!"--which, to be honest, made me grateful he didn't have access to that much money, because I despise those mass-produced pieces of jewelry. Him wishing I could have it was gift enough for me.
The boy who had a solid grasp on the concept of sarcasm by the time he was in the 2nd grade. He was with a friend and the friend's babysitter, and he informed them that he was being sarcastic with some comment he had made. The babysitter asked him, "Do you even know what sarcastic means?" And he responded: "It's like, if you're on a date and you walk into a pole, and she says, 'Niiiiiice.'"
This boy, said his fourth-grade teacher, was not necessarily a leader, but he wasn't a follower, either. He wasn't afraid to stand alone rather than go with the crowd if he didn't want to. Would it be nice to have a kid who is a leader? Sure, I suppose so... but you have to admire a kid who will stand alone if need be.
This boy told his father, when we were in the midst of the worst nastiness while we were going through our divorce, "When you talk to Mommy, it's like you keep using a hammer when you should maybe use a screwdriver." I couldn't have said it better myself, kid.
When he was applying to get into the high school he went to, he needed letters of recommendation from various people, and I've saved the one from his school counselor because her description of him was so beautiful that it still makes me tear up with gratitude. "Though I am a clinician, and therefore often describe students I work with in clinical terms, this is what I most wish to emphasize to you about [him]," she wrote. "He is a delightful person." And, she went on to say, "He is, in fact, one of those lovely people with whom the world is graced, who seeks and is attracted to harmony."
My boy is not easy to get to know, and there are things that are hard for him in life because he is different from most people. But that difference means that I made it through the entirety of his teen years without him ever being disrespectful or nasty or any of those other things that people think of when they think of teenagers.
That difference is the reason I still think of him as my boy and will fight to protect that tender heart of his. For twenty years now, I've been the one who's lucky enough to see facets of him that others miss, because they're not looking, or because they're expecting something from him that's not there. But what is there is so worth finding, and anyone who makes the effort to see him as I see him will find a real treasure.
Happy birthday, dear boy of mine.
Hello; what a wonderful post and an even better life. thanks for sharing. found you from bloggers helping bloggers group on linked in. you are doing very well for a new blogger. I am a blind bloggr so can't comment on design but you should change your signature from admin to your name. That's one of the first things they tell people now. On my blog my signature is mr. midway but that's because its part of my branding and how some of the people online know me. there is a post about it on my site. best of luck, max
ReplyDeleteAh, thanks, Max! I'll have to figure out that signature thing, but I appreciate your feedback.
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