Tuesday, November 25, 2014

the window




The shirt is at least twenty years old. It was his uncle's but is now the young man's favorite. The fabric, some of the thinnest, softest fabric in the world, is worn in such a way across his shoulders that nobody would blame you if you assumed he at once was in a fight with a lion.

He uses the word fulfilling when considering career options. He talks about purpose but not often. It's one of those sentences you catch when you don't expect and all of a sudden it is there. At twenty-three our young men are getting out of college and looking into the world and asking, Fulfilling?

And don't you want to give them the best job in the world.

I do.
(but this is something he has to do and I have to allow him to do it and maybe I'm right and maybe I'm lazy but

there has to be a certain amount of faith in this world.





"What do you want for Christmas?"

"I don't need anything."

I don't push it anymore. I simply watch and listen and decide he likes to walk (the great pacer of this world) and has found a recent appreciation for a particular brand of shirt. A couple of pair of khakis wouldn't hurt. And socks. I should at least cover his cold, bare feet. He is a history buff so possibly a book.





Have you heard about? Did you know? Our conversations are filled with what we read/heard/saw, and there is a time obviously when I looked up and realized I gave birth to one of my best friends in the whole wide world.




Today, everyday, I am grateful for that guy, my son.




In other news I have a movie recommendation.


3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I so enjoy listening to what you write. Just the other day an old friend asked ," what do you miss the most about her". Listening, just listening.

grannie said...

beautiful , words about your son and you. can just see you and him talking and listening to each other. you are a great mother, just listen. you have done good. love you.

Shea Goff said...

What a beautiful compliment, Anonymous. As a writer it means I have a voice.


Thank you, Aunt Sue. He's the bee's knees.