The Hallway is a Lifetime Long

I've been watching you walk down the hall for 14 years, but when I watched you walk down the hall today at 2:00, the person I saw heading toward his friends was not a child--he was a man. You are a man. I thought I was out of your sight in the office, but somehow you knew I was watching; I felt you seek me out. You asked me if I was okay. When did you become so aware of other people? When did you grow up?

In my mind you are still the towheaded little boy who fell asleep on the deck with his dog. You are the pre-k student who was sure he didn't need me to walk him into the building that first day of school, only to turn around and run back into my arms after walking a few steps. Today, though, instead of you running to me with tears in your eyes, you put your arm around my shoulders while I had tears in my eyes.

I will miss you next year; there is no question about that. You are the only other person in our house who understands some of what I say. My tears were a combination of emotions. I am proud of you on a level that exceeds my vocabulary. I love that you are strong enough to wear two kinds of plaid in your "golfer-on-crack" outfit from yesterday. I love that you are strong enough to stay away from situations you consider wrong. I love that you are strong enough to disagree with me on religious and political ideas. I love most of all that you are strong enough to follow the path you want.

Any sadness you see in me right now is purely selfish. I will miss you and I know I will. Consistently stronger than any sadness, though, is pride. You have grown up to be someone I would choose for a friend. You are someone I want to know and talk to, someone I would want in my family even if you weren't my son. I love what you've done so far, and I can't wait to see the great things you will do in the future.