My son turned thirteen yesterday. It’s just a number, but
then again, it’s not. From thirteen to nineteen so many things in the world await
us; our first kiss, our first job, our first date, our first relationship,
prom, driver’s school and the dreaded DMV test, our first broken heart and the immensity of what it means to chase love, to lose it maybe and to one day find it again.
I looked at my little boy last night with wonder. From being
born 11 weeks early at 3lbs, 3 ounces to standing nearly to my shoulders now.
He will be taller than me, that’s for sure, he will have bigger hands than me
too, with which to grapple this world, and bigger feet with which he will no
doubt leave behind a larger trail. Since infancy, time and again, he has shown strength
and resilience that has left me speechless more often than not.
Thirteen is just a number, but then again, it’s not. Some
who know Anthony’s whole story might say it’s a "Lucky" 13. But we – and more
importantly HE – know better: it’s a Blessed 13. Today the door opens on a
brave new world for him and if that sounds overly dramatic, well, trust me, it’s
not. As parents we all want the best for our children, and though teens
are a ways off from leaving the nest entirely, they’re beginning to flap their
wings. They’re looking over the edge, venturing out on to some of the closer branches and, well, glittering
things out there are beginning to catch their eye. We must be there to help,
guide, cajole and discipline them, but we must also know when to let them fly,
when to let them glide and when to bring them back to the nest again.
