My baby boy turned 14 over the weekend. I wasn’t in a rush to write about it since time is rushing by at warp speed and I wanted to savor the moment. He’s almost 5’9, and I need to stand on my tippy toes to kiss his cheek. My son has blossomed into a smart, compassionate, witty young man. He speaks his mind and shares his thoughts with confidence and care. He doesn’t bark or pass judgement, and he is far wiser than I was at his age. I don’t tell him enough how I marvel at his wisdom and his generous soul.
I am admittedly a nag and embarrassingly a yeller. I am quick to notice when chores aren’t done, as mothers are wont to do. I should praise and celebrate more. Raising teenagers is hard. Being a teenager is hard, too. How quickly we forget. Well, how quickly I forgot. My son, whom we affectionately call “Deal,” is really the real deal. I’m impressed by his lovely cadre of friends who share his charm and wit. They were all at my house over the weekend, and never have I seen a more polite and engaging groups of boys. Actually, they are young men. It’s good to see my son surrounding himself with grounded, bright, and kind friends. All we really need to know about someone’s character can be determined by the company he keeps.
Deal always has one ear bud stuck in his ear and listens to rap music with poignant lyrics that he eagerly plays for me. I love that he’s comfortable sharing his musical taste with us, F-bombs and all. He’s become an obsessive fan of basketball, rocks his school geography bee, and is the king of random trivia. The kid’s gonna do alright at cocktail parties one day.
My Deal is a special kid who was born sunny side up 14 years ago, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. I tell him multiple times a day that I love him. I need to tell him more often how proud I am of him. He has an open mind and a warm heart, and being with him makes me better. I have a lot to learn. He has a lot to teach.
Happy birthday to my baby boy. I love you to the moon and back again.