You are 16 today. It is a milestone for you and for us. As parents we feel like time has sprinted to this day and for you it feels like a big step toward adulthood, toward freedom. I remember my own 16th like it was only recent. Someday you will probably feel the same but for now it is here and it is your day.
On the day you were born we went to the hospital early in the morning. My doctor thought you would be born within a few hours, instead you took about 18 hours. Your heart rate dropped and it caused quite the commotion in my hospital room. For a short while I worried that they would whisk my off to surgery but that didn’t happen and just before midnight you arrived, all eight pounds nine ounces of you. A sweet little bundle with very healthy lungs.
In the weeks that followed we moved into a new town and new house and you had colic so you cried, a lot. I went back to work and your dad would call me in the evening and I would hear you crying in the background and my heart would break. Your dad likes to tell people this went on for months but it didn’t. It only felt that way. You sorted yourself out in a few weeks and what emerged was a very happy baby with a laugh that pulled up from your fat belly and rang through me like a jingle bell at Christmas. I have a video of you and your grandfather under the umbrella at the beach. My dad trying to keep you laughing because it was such a great sound and it was so contagious. Of course we all love a laughing baby, the simple act of a funny face or noise sending you into a fit of giggles.
Those first months of your life were not easy for me, having lost my mother only a few months before you were born, moving into a new house in a new town shortly after you were born in the cold and dreary month of January but once spring came around things improved. You were quick to walk and talk. When your brother headed off to kindergarten we spent quiet hours playing with your trains and taking nice afternoon naps. You were a good sleeper and I have always loved an afternoon nap. In the months before your sister was born, we would put your brother on the bus and then head up to our playroom and play trains, I never got to be Thomas, always Edward. I would do my best to keep up with your narrative and what exactly Edward should be doing until my eyes would beg to close. I would put on “Max and Ruby” and tell you I was going to take a rest. I would wake up to find you curled up against me on the opposite end of the couch, sleeping peacefully a train cupped in your hand.
When your sister was born you were enthralled. You would sit next to her and hold her and kiss her. You would watch her while I did something in the kitchen or tried to take a shower. The minute she squawked you would yell “Mom little Miss needs you!” That was your nickname for her. “Little Miss”. I don't know where you came up with that but honestly I am not sure where you came up with a lot of things. You have always had a quick wit and an amazing power to recall events.
When you were about 4 there was a morning when I thought we had run out of apple juice and it was your favorite. I explained to you we would have to run to the store to get more and you answered “There is juice in the car.” I went to car to look and couldn’t find it. I went back into the house and started getting your sister ready and you insisted there was juice. I insisted there was not. I drove us out of town to the cheaper grocery store to find they weren’t open. As we pulled out of the parking lot you said “ There is juice under the seat.” I had looked under the seat and no there was not.
A few hours later we were packing up to go somewhere, maybe the library, and I went out to the car and pulled up the third row seat and there under the seat was two bottles of apple juice. You were right behind me and said ,”See, I told you there was juice in the car.” You said it without sarcasm or malice, you were four after all but you said it with a hint of adult like exasperation. Which still comes out from time to time.
Your ability to recall events and moments has made you a kind and intuitive person. You are able to remember how you felt in certain situations and without much effort are able to translate that into empathy. I remember watching you play soccer. I also remember the day the coach didn't play you at all and how you looked across the field, sitting alone pulling at the grass. I remember that ride home and how you didn't want to talk about it but how sad you looked and it broke my heart. You weren’t as into the sport as some of the other boys but you were always cheering on your teammates and you were always kind and supportive of them. I saw this again at camp this past summer.
Our friend Kim came to me towards the end of the Great Relay to tell me you were running the last mile of the race. I laughed, not unkindly mind you but let’s face it you don’t really enjoy running. She told me to get the flagpole so I could cheer you on for the last few feet of the race and that so far you were in the lead.
I got to the flagpole and all the campers were lined up, grey on one side of the road, green on the other. Keeping in mind of course that we aren’t on the same team you and I so there was the conflict of cheering you on and cheering for my own team but blood runs thicker , doesn’t it?
As you came into view up cabin row some of your friends were running beside you or behind you cheering you on. Your face was red from the effort but you were running, putting those long legs to work. As you came up the road the cheering got louder and the grey team was screaming. You had a lead, just enough of a lead and then I saw who you were running against- one of your cabin mates. You kept the pace and your team was jumping and yelling and you sprinted past me through the ribbon and you were lost in a sea of campers. Tears streamed down my face. Not so much for the winning but for the reaction of your peers, for watching you be surrounded and swamped by cheers and smiles. But what followed next would have enlarged the heart of the Grinch another three sizes.
For as you were swallowed up by enthusiastic friends, your cabin mate and friend was having a much different experience and when the crowd parted and you saw your friend sitting on the ground you went to him. You spoke to him. You handed him some water and put your arm around him. I don’t know what you said and it doesn’t matter because the gesture was beautiful and kind and in that moment the race mattered very little to me.
I feel today as I am certain most parents feel, moms perhaps most especially, that I am proud of who you are becoming but feel nostalgic for the little boy you were. I miss the smallness of you, the weight of your body in my arms, the look on your face when woke up in the morning, all sleep and yawn. I miss you crawling into my lap to watch Thomas or asking for a cookie. I miss making you laugh because now I mostly make you roll your eyes.
In all that I miss I am enjoying what comes next. Where you will go and what you will do. Your kind nature and belief in fairness make you a special person. Your past experiences building in you the power to empathize without judgement which is a rare thing. I would like to think we taught you that but I don’t think we can take credit, it is just how you are wired. I will, however take credit for your sense of humor and perhaps your ability to run really fast.
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