The Prince Comes of Age

Atlanta, GA
December 20, 2020

Herman Kahn once claimed that the only times you can change a man are before he is six and when he goes to college. 

In that case, our younger son has gone without influence the last ten years, and won’t bend to any other for another two. But in the interim, he has certainly had an effect on us.

David may not be the Dauphin, but he is a prince. He was born happy, and always the life of the party. Like many infants, he could carry on well into the small hours, but seemed to feel intolerably inhospitable if his parents didn’t join him. To ensure we did, he’d scream his invitation at the top of his lungs, and wouldn’t hear of us refusing it.

But David has always been generous. From an early age, one of his greatest gifts was his smile. He inherited it from his mother and, as with hers, it lights up a room. We can read by that smile. 

And, for years, it was always on. Almost everything made David happy. His brother, his mother, his grandparents…even his father…made David display his growing assortment of toddler teeth.

But, from an early age, he also liked to cook, read, write, draw, and build. Amazing as it might seem to his teenage self or his middle-aged parents, he despised screens, and recoiled from the television. He always preferred doing to watching.

His inclination and aptitude for sports accommodated that desire. Whether by temperament or virtue of being the second son, David has always been competitive, and wanted to be with the big kids. Now he’s one of them. 

When he was a toddler, he’d sometimes be invited by instructors to join his brother’s karate class. They’d find him a uniform fit for a three-year-old, which David would eagerly don, and set into motion.

Years later, when both boys were playing baseball, eight year-old David managed to become a substitute player on Alexander’s twelve-and-under-team. The league was reluctant, ostensibly to avoid liability in event David was injured. I think they were actually trying to avoid injury to twelve-year-old egos when David struck them out.

His juvenile charm could lull older egos as well. When David was about five, we visited our uncle George and aunt Molly at their place in Atlanta. Thinking it was cute that David was learning chess, George challenged him to a game. 

As it progressed, George’s posture and mood shifted. He went from sitting back, sipping his drink, and casually chatting between moves…to leaning forward, placing his hands to his temples, demanding silence so he could consider his next move, and pondering the trap to which he had adroitly been lured. Across the board, David sat calmly, smiling innocently at his apprehensive prey. As it happened, it escaped. George won. But there would be no re-match.

David has always loved people, and being around them. As is so often the case with such a personality, the feeling is mutual.

Since he was born, his mother and I have grown proudly accustomed to teachers, parents, coaches, and friends complimenting us for the wonderful child we were blessed to have. They all insisted he return to their class, be on their team, or come back to their home. 

We appreciate the accolades and agree with the sentiment. But to some degree I feel embarrassed accepting them. Part of me feels like a broker who bought a stock at the end of the Carter Administration. With David, we had a bull market. All we had to do was let it run.

Fortunately, we held a quality name, that could endure the downturns. Like all of us, he has had his share. But one has been particularly acute. 

David was blessed with gorgeous locks of curly blonde hair. Several years ago, they began to fall out. They were soon all gone, and have not returned. We learned he has Alopecia universalis, the most severe form of Alopecia areata, a condition under which the immune system attacks hair follicles.

As to be expected, David was initially upset, as were we. We’ve attempted several treatments and approaches, and will continue to do so. But this ailment caused a side-effect I thought nothing could produce. It enhanced my pride in my son. 

He has handled this with abiding grace, philosophical acceptance, and commendable maturity. Nor is he above self-depreciation. Last night he made a bet with Alexander, and said he would shave his head if he lost. Not that we won’t keep asking questions, but David is fine if there are no answers.

Once, when we were at a restaurant, he taught me a lesson in perspective. A couple noticed him from across the room, and gave him a look of concern and pity. David said he received those from time to time, and has even had people say to him that they assumed he was undergoing chemotherapy. 

When I grimaced, he re-assured me. He said he didn’t mind such comments at all. In fact, he appreciated them. Whenever someone thought he had cancer, it always reminded him that he didn’t, that other people did, and how fortunate he actually is. He also liked making the people who saw him feel better when he let them know he was fine.

David is good at making people feel better. Knowing how much he meant to his grandfather, David would sometimes ask to stop by his place, if only for a minute…to make the older man smile, if only for a second. 

David elicits smiles from young ladies as well as from old men. His charm, conversational dexterity, and lack of inhibition around any dance floor usually raise the corners of female mouths. 

Although he has since stopped, he took piano lessons for years, developing a skill that I try to assure him will do more than soothe savage beasts. His ability to cook, and his ongoing efforts to learn a second language will only enhance that appeal. 

A few years ago he was in Walla Walla, where he helped crush grapes for our cousin’s wine, and design a tasting room for the new winery. That experience derived from…and served to increase…a budding interest in architecture, toward which he is inclined as a possible college major.

David has always done well in school. Despite the challenges of remote “learning” during the first half of his sophomore year, that has continued. Like many of his contemporaries, he has suffered frustration. But he did not succumb to it.

He likes to supplement his academics with athletics. Last year, he earned a spot on his high school golf team. This year, he is considering baseball, and will again play rec-league basketball while he thinks about it.

David has his learner’s permit, but little interest in driving. He didn’t receive the permit till last July and must hold it for a year, so the rite of passage for any sixteen year-old must wait till at least next summer. 

That’s fine. He’s in no rush. As he put it to me once, he expects he’ll have plenty of time to drive. I agreed, but reminded him that much as ladies like dancing, dining, music, and movies, they also prefer men who can drive them to such activities. I expect his driving practice will increase as the new year unfolds.

As with anyone born in December, David runs the risk that his special day will be over-shadowed by another one. After all, even Christmas sometimes gets lost in the frenzy surrounding the date David’s father entered the world. But as the shadow of that day recedes, it is David’s time to shine. 

Today, our prince is 16, and is coming of age. Like a fine bottle of French wine or the fond memory of a bygone era, he only gets better with the passage of time. 

David has convinced me that Herman Kahn was wrong. He has done so by improving his father, who is far beyond the age of college, tho’ occasionally beneath the maturity of a child. 

As parents, our job is not to raise children. It is to raise adults. Sometimes, the children do a better job of that than we do.

JD