Brilliant … But Bouncy

I See That Little Redheaded Boy.

Dear Dylan,

You are six feet tall. Your hands and feet are huge. Your voice is deep and strong. You are growing into a man before my very eyes.

It scares me.

It scares me that you are so big, you could squash me at any time. It scares me that you will leave here sooner than I would like. It scares me that you will be driving a car soon, and cars are dangerous, and every time I think about you driving, I remember that little electric car you drove when you were a toddler.

In fact, I keep forgetting that you’re not a toddler anymore.

So many times, when I look at you, I see that little redheaded boy, only two feet tall. I remember getting down on my knees to hug you. I remember kneeling and waiting with my arms outstretched, and you running at me, full force, laughing and knocking me over as I caught you in my arms.

I remember that gorgeous smile, so full of hope and excitement, your eyes sparkling all day long. You smiled up at me from your crib, and didn’t stop until sixth grade. And now when you smile, it’s even more meaningful, lighting up the room and melting my soul.

Watching you grow has taught me so much – how to help you and, more times than not, how to back off. But what I have learned more than anything from raising you for 15 years is that time is supercharged during the parenting years. One minute, I was a kid fresh out of college; the next minute, you were on your way to college. The time in the middle is just a blur of the happiest memories in my life.

I try to hold on to those memories. I kept a lot of journals. I took a lot of pictures.

But mostly I just remember you running at me, full force, laughing and knocking me over as I caught you in my arms.

Love,

Mom