Da Count-Da Boy

I nuzzle your newborn cheek,

inhaling your innocence,

sighing out my thanks,

savoring the softness of your skin.

I realize one day

your cheek will scratch mine.

I wrote that poem many years ago.  It expresses my thoughts on the day my son was born.  That was eighteen years ago.  Although he was by no means a tiny baby at 9.5 lbs he just plain dwarfs me now.  He stands 11 inches taller than I do.  More than the size of his body I am struck by the size of his heart.  During his teen years he has worked in local soup kitchens, gone to Coney Island, New York to work with the homeless, spent significant time in New Orleans doing post-Katrina recovery work, traveled to a Navajo reservation and kept in contact with some young athletes there as a means to encourage their continued development in sports, and this summer he went to work in an orphanage in Haiti.  Am I bragging on him?  Yes, I think that's a fair accusation.

He's the youngest of my kids and the quietest personality of them.  His two older sisters are the types who can fill a room and in our house it has often been suggested he had not one but three mothers, although I have reminded his sisters more than occasionally over the years that the position is filled and they can just relax and be sisters.  At times as the youngest sibling he felt a bit like he was in their shadow but I'd say he's been able to cast his own.

Although, I pondered the metaphorical prickliness of having a son when he was born he's been a really even-tempered guy for the most part.  We all have our moments and Isaac certainly has his, generally he is pretty easy to get along with.  He doesn't like conflict and avoids people who like to stir the pot.

In spite of the fact that he likes to slack on schoolwork and only does his laundry about once a month (listen, I don't want you coming away thinking I believe this kid is perfect) he does have a work ethic.  He roofs with his dad and helps bring hay in for a farmer friend in the summer.  Both of those jobs are hard work involving long, hot, sweaty days.

He makes me laugh.  Sometimes it's with wordplay.  Sometimes it's with his willingness to act like a complete doofus in public.  Sometimes it's because even though he's really intelligent he can be quite oblivious.  Often it's his great appreciation for irony.

So by and large, there has not been too much "scratchiness" to endure in terms of his personality.  Instead it comes from knowing my baby, my last child, is now eighteen.  It comes from knowing he is pulling away, anxious to get on with his own life on his own terms (or so we all think at this age). It comes from watching him wrestle with himself over which direction to take.  It comes from knowing Mr. Lime and I are no longer parenting children who adore us simply because we are all they know, but we are parenting young adults who have their own goals, and plans for achieving them.  Fortunately, there is a great deal of soothing to be had in a youngest child who is not prickly in nature and who has a genuine decency about him.

Happy birthday, Isaac.