You were once so small I could sling you over one shoulder and lay you down softly into the tub under warm shower water.  I’d say it again the next day or whenever you were with me: someone call a taxi?   

“Taxi,” you’d say and up and over your naked brown ass went again.  Until one day.   

I miss that.  Chasing your little speedy ass around the park in freeze tag. You were a heck of a little recruiter, too.    

Those sweaty nerf wars at the house on my weekends.  

Those wrestling matches those same weekends.  We can’t do those anymore.  Not unless you wanna wheel me around afterwards.              

Know what I’ll remember most about this last year, though? Still just as awesome as naked taxis and play fights?  I mean, besides you getting selected for a travel team to England (wait, what?) and your first semester freshman grades (3.5 GPA) or how you managed, again, and deftly, two warring parents?  Telling your old man what he wanted to hear, your mom too.  I mean, ya could have sided with me once or twice if I’m being totally honest about it, but, and as much as it pains me to say this, always side with the one who sleeps on her side for nine months on your behalf (something about turning out “special” if she risked sleeping on her back).  Always side with your mother.           

Besides when we came home on 9-11, and you going to the tube in usual fashion but doing something unusual?  I remember.  I fussed around in the kitchen for a few minutes before my ears noticed you weren’t listening to the normal Scott Van Pelt or Buddy vs Duff on the cooking network. There were serious words coming from the tube and even more serious images.  What the . . 

We never did finish the whole graphic series about 9-11 on the National Geographic Channel, but we put a good dent in it for the next three to four days at dinner.  In that very moment of watching you initiate that program, I was so very proud of you.  I remember thinking to myself, too, that you love your country a lot more than I did at your age.    

And we’ll get to Afghanistan, I didn’t forget.  I know (Pat) Tillman made an impression on you, but it’s a lot to cover and I’m still trying to figure out where to start.  Same with girl power.  I don’t know where to start that conversation yet, either, but from the looks of things we might be able to put this one off a little longer.  You seem consumed in athletics, but just in case you’re putting on a real good show in front of me, make sure you at least save all her texts.         

But besides that?

And besides you flipping me shit after a Steelers loss? 

Besides the Wednesdays when you’re with me and when you get up from the sofa to greet me at the door and we have our little check-ins?  I never ever told you to get up from the sofa, ya know that?  You did it on your own.   

Besides another year of not having to consult an urban dictionary?  Not coming home with blue or other statement-colored hair and rings through your brows and giving me the they-them business–Jeezus, this whole pronoun business. I’d have learned the language if I had to, and put on the right face, but it’s one less face I had to practice in the mirror.  

Besides all that?  

You know I can go on and on, but I think I’ll end it here.  I’m starting to look and sound like the mom or dad who can’t help themselves, showing picture after picture, telling story after story, to a well-intentioned listener who’s doing his very damn best to give a rip.   

Now say your prayers the way we learned.  Thank you thank you thank you.  Three times.  And don’t forget to ask Him for stuff, especially on your birthday.  It’s how it works. 

Grow to 6’, was it?  Taller than me. Yeah, I wish that too.