June 1, 2006 was one of those red letter days. My little boy turned 30. That's a tough thing to take for so many reasons. Not the least of is that it makes me feel really old. Let me just say I was really young when he was born.
I hadn't really wanted to think about his birthday this year, but it's been building for the last two weeks.
I have three children, my son and two daughters came after. I love all three equally. But my son and I have always had a special bond. Maybe it's because we're both such political animals and can have a heck of a good debate. We both love music and like to talk.
And, we've both worked in journalism.
I had the opportunity to work with my son when we were both in college. Yes, we did the most horrible thing parents can do to their child. My husband and I both went back to college when our son graduated from high school. He went off to a different college, but after one semester transferred to the college we were at -- in another state. So when I was editor-in-chief of the college paper, he was one of my reporters.
Then I again had the privilege of working with him when he worked for a news organization at the state Capitol, and I was working for another news group in the same press corps. We had some fun debates and some just plain fun chasing down stories and trying to beat each other out of scoops. I really enjoyed seeing him work and was very proud of the respect I knew others had for him. When my current job takes me to the state Capitol, I always have people stop and ask me how he's doing.
He's busy raising his two cute daughters and he and his wife are expecting a third child. He's hoping for a boy. I hope he gets his son, but know he'll be happy with another barbie-loving princess.
I've seen him transition from a carefree radio guy to a respected newspaper reporter to a great dad. I think he's still probably trying to find his "path." And that's ok. Heck, I was darn near 40 when I finally admitted that I was a journalist and had been a reporter ever since I talked my fourth grade teacher into starting a newspaper at Duncan Elementary.
I'm missing my son a lot these days. He lives almost 2,000 miles away and it's tough not to talk to him every day. Not that we can't pick up the phone, but because sometimes it's easy to get too busy. Yes, we talk. But it's not quite the same.
But he's always our little boy. The little guy with the quick smile who never saw a stranger, much to his mom's discomfort. The kid who had us at the emergency room at least twice a year -- it felt like every weekend -- from age 11 to 18. The kid who "borrowed" our car before he had his license, then totalled two of them after he had his license. The kid who played football, loved surfing, and learned quickly that sometimes one girlfriend at a time is best.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think about my children, what they are doing, and where they are. Lately it's been my son on my mind when I wake up.
No matter his age, he'll always be my little boy.
My only prayer is that if I can't be there, Lord, oh Lord, protect my child."
-- Bob Dylan "Protect My Child"
Back in My Day
1 year ago