Sunday, February 12, 2012

Three to Sixteen

He sat across from me in Milestones as we chatted over burgers and yam fries, laughing about his day at motorcycle school.  I had left him there that morning, thinking that this was about becoming a man and growing up-no guy wants his Mom around while he's with the guys, even if it's in a class where he's the youngest.  

Still, the thought of him on a busy road on a motorbike freaks out the Mom in me.  We're not there yet, I reassure myself.  Not quite, but soon.

Sixteen years ago when I was pregnant with him, people who came to my baby shower wrote letters for him for his 16th birthday.  They were full of predictions that Kevin would be riding his own motorcycle, and while back then it seemed so unreal, here we are.   It's such a long way from Legos and playgrounds, sandboxes or chasing bugs.  In some ways, it makes me a little sad.  How did all these years go so fast?  When did he go from playing with Hot Wheels to getting his learner's license?

Today  I was in a Starbucks, sipping coffee and killing time before I had to pick Kevin up from his motorcycle class, when a small boy about 3 years old sat across from me.  With brown curls and devastatingly blue eyes, he tried unsuccessfully to open his juice before holding it out to me with a plea to help him open it.   Only thirteen years ago, that would've been my small blonde boy with his ever present stuffed black dog, wandering through Starbucks and nibbling on an oat bar.

Oh, those years go fast.  It's a little hard to be letting him out in to the world, bit by bit but here we are, teaching him how to drive, talking colleges, and more.  He's almost all grown up now and sometimes when I look at him, I catch my breath.  Those days seem so fleeting now, but every now and then I'm reminded.

Some time later, I stood in the doorway to his room, calling Kevin to dinner.  Surrounded by electronics and computer parts, he tinkered with an old amp that he's been fixing these days.  As I watched, I couldn't help but smile.

From his bed, watching over it all, was his stuffed black dog.

© 2011 Notes From the Cookie Jar, AllRightsReserved.

Designed by ScreenWritersArena