Can’t you just hear him thinking that?
I took this photo about 30 years ago to document my son’s first haircut. It was one of the thousands of photos we took of him in his first few years. It reminds me of how careful we were with his tiny, tender life. He was our first child, one who came along after several years of trying and crying and medical interventions, and there was nothing, NOTHING, more important than his safety.
Now this first child is 32 and living on his own, with his own job and apartment and car and everything. He schedules his own dental appointments, his own auto service, his own haircuts. We no longer hover over him. If his Check Engine light comes on, we tell him to call the repair shop and make an appointment. He’s an adult with his own life to live, separate from ours.
Still. . . .
Our situation is ideal. Both of our grown kids live in the area, and we all get together once a week for dinner and gaming (taking turns running various role-playing games most nights). And though we don’t nag, don’t push, don’t hover, he is still and will always be a big piece of our lives. I will always look forward to the time we spend together, will always worry about whether he’s eating well, will always try to make him happy with his birthday presents. I will always be ready to step in, without hesitation or question, if he needs me. And if anyone or anything sets out to hurt my son, I will go into Mama Bear mode, and I will have one word for them—-
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Careful.”