High School

You know those moments when you take a hard swallow and know that life is not going to be the same, ever again? Last night we sat and went through the classes Aidan is choosing for high school. HIGH SCHOOL! This is the little guy who spent most days of his of his toddlerhood, clad only in a t-shirt and diaper, playing in the mud with streams of water and plastic dinosaurs. Sugar Bear to his momma. And now, he's casually tossing around terms like "Chemistry/Physics, the IB program (which is apparently NOT "irritable bowel", in case you were confused.), pre-engineering and advanced humanities. Sheesh. Part of me wants to go back to the diaper days when I knew he was always an arms reach away, but the other part of me swells with pride to see the fella he's turning out to be.

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

In the Jerusalem market, the old Arab trying to sell Aidan a dagger, shooed Chris away..."No, no, he is man, you let him choose...". And we will. Even if it means those wings that we've carefully watched grow, will take him far from the nest.