Nov 29th, 2011 | By | Category: Senior Moments Blog

The Gift of a Child

Tomorrow is a particularly remarkable day, a gift that comes by making the right choices, an opportunity that is a part of priority setting, an occasion to be cherished for the rest of my life.  My son and I will be on our way to the west coast.  He is my only child and one for whom life has helped me learn the treasure children have to offer.

I was an only child, now with only my mother remaining, I understand how others found it so helpful to have siblings.  I didn’t have any.  But I do have a son. His person is one of the greatest joys I have in life.  His personality, while a whole world away in experience and understanding from my background, amazes and mystifies me.  An artist, his intellect, his sensitivities, his insatiable curiosity amaze me.  He is brilliant, sometimes to the point of utter and absolute wonderment.  He is a lover, perhaps from another time.  He expects relationships to be genuine, affection lasting and real, commitment serious and intentional.

Clearly, unless I set boundaries, this article could be almost as long as our trip.  That’s what its like for a father describing his child.  From early on, when showing off photos of a bald, smiling little tot to Little League pictures, to his graduation photograph, fathers retain and maintain a forever pride in their offspring.  I have and I do and I make no apology.

Treasures Shared Between Generations

He is musical, artistic, sensitive, socially conscious and aware, deeply questioning, overwhelmingly concerned for the world he is not sure about for him and subsequent generations.  Because he is the child of divorce, he has fought the demons of that curse since it happened in his life now 4o years ago.  It hurt him deeply.  The scars, sometimes still show.  The pain sometimes still surfaces.  It is that sensitivity that contributes to his great caring for and shared compassion with others.  He is charitable to a fault.  Helping people has led him straight into traps, not of his making, but of his naive participation.

He loves his father.  I know that.  He loves his birth mother as well.  And after all these years we all love each other in our own self protective and caring ways.  My wife, who participated in our rearing him in his growing up years, is also his Mom.  The two are connected at the hip, in their hearts, and through their spirits.

As we make our way across empty plains and snow capped mountains, through large cities and small villages, his listening to his music and my reading from the Kindle, we are at peace.  We are father and son, son and father, equals on a journey of love and peace and affirmation.  Along the way, we will  stop now and again, not only for fuel and food, but also for the chance to stretch and to embrace and to tell each other just once more how precious the other is to and in our lives.

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