…three of them. I always think of them as just…normal kids. Mine, yes, and I’m no different from any mom who thinks her offspring are pretty special. They are. I’m certain of it. But I do try to keep in mind that my thinking so doesn’t amount to much. Still, inevitably, they surprise me when I’m least expecting it. All three of them have done.
It’s the end of the school year, my youngest’s first at university, and I get a quick note. “Hi Mom. Sent you an essay. Think you could edit it? Love you!”
This semester he’s is taking a creative writing course. His first. I had the chance to look at the first draft of his first story after he got it back. The prof was supportive and forgiving and gave excellent direction, but the story needed…work. Of course it did. My son is new at this. But he sent me this piece he wrote for his final assignment. A creative nonfiction piece. A little twenty minute snippet of his life, held together by a repeated phrase. I read it, astonished. This was my son. Writing a piece that…mesmerized me. The hair stood up on my arms, and I had a moment there where I couldn’t breathe.
Is there anything better than being stunned into immobility by your children revealing layers you never expected? By showing, unequivocally, they could very well outpace you? If there is, I can’t think of it.