A Boy and His Birthday

Today, at exactly 8:10am, my little boy turned eight years old. At one time the perverbial Big Boy title was sufficient and proudly worn. But now it is an adament Big Kid status he demands.

He is a big kid. In ever-growing confidence, he is climbing rung by rung up a ladder of determination and showing himself unscathed and ever-ready for more.

Inch by inch his intrepidity has shown itself in brighter colors, more daring, more boisterous than the day before. He’s setting himself apart as a leader instead of a follower and is voicing himself with an audaciousness unmatched. With emotional growth and a careful ponderance, he’s clutching his fingers around life with inquistiveness quietly stirring within.

To think, these qualities were once thought bothersome or something to be tamed, even squelched. But when peered at in reverse, as if he were a man still maintaining such characteristics and remembering them in him as a child, still green, still growing…well, the perspective comes into light a bit clearer now doesn’t it?

He may be the person who cures cancer, fights injustice or simply helps a friend in a time of need. He may write a symphony or write a book. He may be the man others look to for help or for impassioned encouragement. But whatever he is, he will most definitely be himself. Untethered by fruitless obligations or conformity, he will seek out what has been put inside of him and be the person he was born to be. Perfectly, beautifully real. But for now, he’ll just be my 8 year old.

Mom and Dad: “Good morning, 8 year old. Happy birthday.”

Z in a sleepy haze: “Mom, Dad, It’s not my birthday…”

Upon reminding him of the purchase of a new DS game, he quickly realized it was in fact his birthday. Up, dressed, to the store and home again, he has been sprawled across the carpeted floor for nearly 6 hours, absorbed in the marvel of such freedom of choice. Our boy is certainly his own.