My son, my son...

The opening from a poem my mom wrote for me when I was about 10.

"..what have you done," it continues.  "To make me love you so?"

"Is it your eyes or is it your toe?"

And on and on she went, extolling my virtues and poking me in my self conscious ribs at the same time.

I had an incredibly powerful conversation/argument/discussion/reaching of an understanding with my oldest this morning.  He's a helluva guy.

"The prince" my mom called him when he was very small.

I am halfway through being 42 and still working to figure out who the fuck I am.  He is 17 and working hard to establish what that means for himself too.  We are so much the same, and he wants so much to not be me, but yet so much of me does he kinda wish for himself... (sigh)  Crazymaking..

He is all the depth of feeling and consideration and understanding that one could ever want for one's child, and he is the bombast, toughness and righteousness too.  I am as proud of him now as I was the moment I saw him, all chubby and plump and thick shock of straight black indian hair, soon to become ringlet curls...

I saw my wrong today and owned it.  He saw his and owned it too.  It was pretty awesome to be there, in that conversation, with that guy; that young man.  I gained immeasurable respect for him today.

Earlier, between rounds, I phoned his mom in exasperation, frustration, wondering if there was some secret that caused him to leave his home, to come to the city, to try his hand at this reinvention.

"Did he burn any bridges?  Were there any incidents?"...  Said I, all panicky and concerned.

"Not at all," said she.  "He's just a good kid trying to find his way on his own."

"By the way his grad ceremony will be on the 20th and you guys should come.  It'll be nice."

Warmed my heart.

This calm, practical woman who, thank GOD, was the one to raise him.  Who, with the help of her stalwart man, and a nice big NDN family, prepared this boy for the life that was to come.  I was in there somewhere, flitting in and out like a Disneyland Daddy, singing and charming and cooking and camping my way into his heart somehow...

But here we were today.  Man and young man:  One trying to help and shine light on the path and the other fighting like hell to turn out that light and stumble in the dark - On his own.

And he held his own.  And hung up on me when he should have.  And called back, even sooner than I would have done when I was 17.  And we worked through it.  And I love him.  Forever.  I will like him for always.  But, as long as you're living, Daniel.  My baby you'll be!