When I was 20 years old, I married my wife.
When I was 20 years old, we found out…we were going to be parents!
And now that baby boy, today, is 20 years old! How exactly, is this possible?
This man we raised is no longer a boy. He’s no longer even a teenager.
He’s 6′ 6″ tall. He has a beard. He is 20 years old.
I remember his baby giggles, his chubby ankles, and his first “ick” as he pointed to a letter “i.” His pre-school crush, his grade school sports, his bass playing days. His first love, his High School glory. His first day at college.
He is 20 years old. He’s not who he will be quite yet, but he is not who he has been either. And neither am I!
My eldest son has seen more versions of me than any of my other children: student, barista, waiter, manager, chaplain, pastor, elementary school teacher. I’ve been many versions of me and he has seen it all.
And I have seen him grow into adulthood.
He is 20 years old. He is becoming. He is compassionate and kind, capable and sharp, independent and mature beyond his years (whenever he wants to be!). He can call and make his own appointments. He’s been doing this since he was 17 years old. 17!
I can dream him into so many possibilities. I can imagine him with co-workers, collaborating around a conference table, solving problems, dreaming his own dreams. I can just see him there!
Wherever he goes, I’m rooting for him, because he is my son. And today, he is 20 years old. Happy Birthday, Leo.
For the month of March this blog is all “slice of life.” #sol21