Friday, July 1, 2011

What's wrong with a nice big safe car?

He looked so grown up when he walked through the front door and set his helmet down on the table. That did not, however, settle the uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Hi mom! How are you?” he asked sincerely while giving me a big hug. Will I ever get used to him being taller than me?

He bought a motorcycle.  My son, my baby boy, bought a vehicle that offers zero protection from irresponsible drivers that share a road with him. I am having a hard time getting used to the idea.

Perhaps it’s because he is my only son in a family of two girls. Maybe it’s because he is my youngest. My last one to enjoy all those growing up experiences with. The child I took extra care to simply remember the moment because he was my last baby. The last to rock to sleep, use the high chair, learn how to walk, teach how to tie a shoe, ride a bike, push in the swing, go to kindergarden. He was the last child in the family to graduate from elementary, middle, high school and college.

Quite possibly it’s because he enjoys the thrill of adventure. While the girls took ballet and horseback riding, my little guy was jumping off ramps with his bike or skates. He had two broken arms and stitches in his face before finishing elementary school. He was so brave and never cried. But I did. When he was in high school I prayed like crazy while enduring ice hockey games each week.

I am happy for him. I really am, but only because he enjoys it so. My son and husband went skydiving awhile back and although there is no denying the fear I had, at the same time I was thrilled for them because I have never seen those two happier.

There just aren’t words to express how proud we are of him and what joy he brings to our life. His personality is easy going, likable and happy. I feel an unexplainable joy simply having him around.

“I’ll be careful” he says as he slips on his gloves. I know he will. It’s the other drivers that scare me. “Bye mom, love you” he says over his shoulder as he turns out of the driveway.  The feeling is a familiar one as my mind recalls a little boy peddling his tricycle as fast as his little legs can go and everything in me hoping he doesn’t get hurt. “Wuv you mommy” his little voice would call over his shoulder. And just like before, I find myself pleading the very same thing I prayed back then. “Please Father, keep him safe.”

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