#22 My Son Has Grown
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The countdown is on.
It’s 8:00 AM and my son is up unusually early. I like it because this is his last week before
he moves off to college and instead of him taking advantage of his last days of summer by
sleeping in until the mornings gone, he’s packing up his little boy toys and taking down
his little boy posters. It’s Monday. I’ve got 5 days left.
I’m crying. It started this morning. When I thought about having only 5 days more the
tears began to flow. It’s a good thing, though, right? He’s a great kid and has made me a
proud father. Always well behaved; smart; funny; and most of all, extremely thoughtful.
Now he’s off to college. Step two so to say. What has me thinking is I have had my time
with him, 19 years of step one, and I’m looking back to see what I’ve forgot to do with him.
He was two, almost three, when I broke my neck. We had already done his first Mariner’s
game. He had a bicycle with training wheels. We had fished at a trout farm. He owned a
baseball glove that he needed to grow into and break in. What came next was witnessed
via my wheelchair.
We still did Mariner games but probably not as many as we would have. The training
wheels literally fell off before anyone gave him that last push to two wheel freedom.
Grandpa baited his hook a couple times a year. Dust covered the baseball glove until he
was old enough for T-ball. I started crying harder when I thought about these things. The
last 16 years I’ve missed out on so much.
It’s not that I forgot to do these things it’s just that I wasn’t able to. I didn’t get to see his
4th & 5th grade classrooms because they were on the second floor. I missed out on
watching him ski. I didn’t get to be there for his hole-in-one. I didn’t get to show him how
good I was at sports. I didn’t get to teach him to salmon fish or drive a boat or a car. I didn’
t even get to show him the stupid things like how I used to spin objects on my finger.
Luckily, verbal communication is a valuable tool because a lot of what we did manage to
conquer I was able to talk him through it. Looking forwards I’m happy he’s grown the way
he has, to be ready for his next phase in life. Looking back I feel we both have missed out
in so much.
Being in a wheelchair totally sucks. During these last 16 years I’ve shed the occasional
tear but putting the memories into a mental time capsule really opened the flood gates. I
can only imagine what the memories would be if things were normal.
With red eyes I told my son this morning how much I’m going to miss him. He just smiled
and said ‘Man up!”
Thinking about it that way, that’s exactly what he’s done.
It’s 8:00 AM and my son is up unusually early. I like it because this is his last week before
he moves off to college and instead of him taking advantage of his last days of summer by
sleeping in until the mornings gone, he’s packing up his little boy toys and taking down
his little boy posters. It’s Monday. I’ve got 5 days left.
I’m crying. It started this morning. When I thought about having only 5 days more the
tears began to flow. It’s a good thing, though, right? He’s a great kid and has made me a
proud father. Always well behaved; smart; funny; and most of all, extremely thoughtful.
Now he’s off to college. Step two so to say. What has me thinking is I have had my time
with him, 19 years of step one, and I’m looking back to see what I’ve forgot to do with him.
He was two, almost three, when I broke my neck. We had already done his first Mariner’s
game. He had a bicycle with training wheels. We had fished at a trout farm. He owned a
baseball glove that he needed to grow into and break in. What came next was witnessed
via my wheelchair.
We still did Mariner games but probably not as many as we would have. The training
wheels literally fell off before anyone gave him that last push to two wheel freedom.
Grandpa baited his hook a couple times a year. Dust covered the baseball glove until he
was old enough for T-ball. I started crying harder when I thought about these things. The
last 16 years I’ve missed out on so much.
It’s not that I forgot to do these things it’s just that I wasn’t able to. I didn’t get to see his
4th & 5th grade classrooms because they were on the second floor. I missed out on
watching him ski. I didn’t get to be there for his hole-in-one. I didn’t get to show him how
good I was at sports. I didn’t get to teach him to salmon fish or drive a boat or a car. I didn’
t even get to show him the stupid things like how I used to spin objects on my finger.
Luckily, verbal communication is a valuable tool because a lot of what we did manage to
conquer I was able to talk him through it. Looking forwards I’m happy he’s grown the way
he has, to be ready for his next phase in life. Looking back I feel we both have missed out
in so much.
Being in a wheelchair totally sucks. During these last 16 years I’ve shed the occasional
tear but putting the memories into a mental time capsule really opened the flood gates. I
can only imagine what the memories would be if things were normal.
With red eyes I told my son this morning how much I’m going to miss him. He just smiled
and said ‘Man up!”
Thinking about it that way, that’s exactly what he’s done.
