I Love My Son

There are many, many reasons why I love my son.

I love the fact that he is a guitar genius, that he makes great grades without trying, that he insists on being clean (his room notwithstanding) and that he’s polite to other adults.

I love the fact that he genuinely loves to have fun, has very little fear, is friendly to everyone and is protective of his sister and his mom.

I love that he uses his talents to glorify God, that he understands the link between exercise and body weight, that he knows to pull himself out of a bad situation, and that he is quick witted.

Examples:

In Spanish, his teacher told the class that it is important to learn a foreign language because, when you travel to another country, you are expected to speak that country’s language. Without missing a beat, my boy asks, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but if that’s true, why do we make signs in Spanish for the Hispanic people who move here?” His teacher declined to further the discussion.

I thought it was a legitimately insightful question.

Devastated about the loss of his longboard, which broke just 3 weeks after he opened it on Christmas morning, he’s already ordered a new one and is waiting on it to arrive. In the meantime, he’s got a couple of buddies helping him out with loaners. Another buddy has his old board and is remaking it into something new.

When Allen offered to pick up his wheels and trucks from the skate shop, my boy gave him instructions.

“Hey, when you get the wheels, make sure you get everything from him, including the twisty things that hold the wheels on,” he instructed.

“Did you mean nuts or pins?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“The things that hold the wheels on, are they nuts or pins?”

“Dad. Really?” came his reply. “You’re asking this of a kid who just called them twisty things?”

He’s right, of course. How silly of me.

I do love my boy.