We've spent the last 13 years giving our son wings. We've encouraged him to dream, to learn, to create; to reach. We've told him stories and given him adventures. We've fostered his love for far away places, and people not the same. Along the way, we've nudged, and pushed, and pulled, and prodded, until he could stand on his own, walk on his own, and now, I'm half afraid, he's really going to fly, on his own. I get the sense that this mountain range out our window is going to become too small, to cramped.
The kid who danced with abandon, flinging one arm out in rhythmic slicing motions, is now the young man who still sees the world with enthusiasm and optimism. Who takes sides with the disadvantaged. He has a sense of adventure and daring, the fernweh of his ancestors. He wears the olive skin that hints of Cherokee heritage, his PopPop's sense of humor, his daddy's smile and generous heart, and my brown eyes.
|Aidan in Georgetown, CO|