Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Dear 16-Year Old Son,
I don't know you, yet, but I'm writing to inform you that it has been a pleasure watching you catch bugs this afternoon in the year 2010. I figure 13 years from now you will have shed your 3-year-old's ways and won't find it so interesting. In fact, at 16 you probably never think to leave the house with dirty fingernails, without your shoes, or in sweats. But right now, I expect nothing but.
I also want to remind you that no matter what you think of your mother today, once upon a time you liked me very much. You would tell me almost 20 times a day that you loved me. LOVED me. That's right. You love me. Try not to forget it. And I'll try to give you every reason to remember.
By now your sweet little toddler voice is probably all changed up. You might even be a baritone, but I hope you still sing because I know it brings you peace and calm to hum a little tune. (I even think the roley-poley bugs like it.)
Anyway, happy hunting, be it bugs or babes -- or whatever your 16-year-old self is interested in. And thanks, very much, for a nice afternoon.
Your mother, who is not going to admit how old she is.