The Poisoned Ink Well

Thursday, August 28, 2003

My son will be 16 in a few days and everyday he looks a little bit more like his father and like my brother Alan. He is all muscles and grace and fluid movement. He climbs up on the roof and cleans out the gutters for me. I am afraid of heights. He’s not. He lifts all the heavy stuff for me and I marvel at his energy and his robust nature, so much like my father, and charming, smiling, able to coax and smooth things over and laughing in the sunlight with no need for shadows at all. I wonder if I taught him enough to survive, to thrive, to reach whatever potential he possesses.