The Boy Becomes a Man

Atlanta, GA

December 20, 2022

A few years ago, over breakfast with a mentor who’d recently retired, I lamented being middle-aged.

Having three children as old as I was, he responded by providing perspective…and putting me in my place.

“How do you think I feel?”, he asked. “My kids are middle aged!”

Like drops of water on an Arizona sidewalk, years evaporate before we know it. And our children’s childhood seems to go quickest.

This morning we reckon with both our sons being adults. The first passed that portal a few years ago. The other crosses the threshold today.

David was supposed to be born Christmas Day 2004. As one who always hates being late, he arrived early. Even the obstetrician was caught off guard.

This afternoon eighteen years ago, my wife was certain our second son was ready to arrive. I brought her to the doctor. He gave her a look, said everything was fine, and sent her home.

On the way to the car, she clutched her mid-section. We walked back to the obstetrician, who sent us to the hospital. Six hours later, our boy was born.

I can’t imagine life without him. David’s an inspiration, and an aspiration. I’m not only proud of my son; I want to be more like him. He’s witty, wise, considerate, and kind. 

He has his mother’s intelligence and practicality, but isn’t above poking his head into airy realm of his father’s clouds. And to Alexander he’s been the best friend an older brother could hope to have.

David can do whatever he wants. He’s the rare kid who could’ve raised himself. He’s always had common sense, but also a sixth one. He knows how other people feel, often before they do. This enables him to empathize with anyone, as he always has.

He makes friends easily, but not haphazardly, and not with everyone. David’s mindful who he associates with, and careful who he calls his friends. He doesn’t need too many; just the right ones. As Al Capone put it, he’d rather have four quarters than a hundred pennies.

But to be one of those coins is worth a million bucks.

He’s innately smart, engaging, attractive, and athletic. But he’s also humble. He comes naturally by his modesty, yet has had more than his share foisted upon him by the obstacles he’s had to overcome.

As a pre-teen, David was diagnosed with scoliosis and flat feet, both of which inhibited his athletic prospects. He was hindered further by delayed growth that kept his height a couple years behind his age. 

His most conspicuous and challenging deficiency was the sudden loss of his beautiful blonde locks. He was diagnosed with Alopecia at age twelve. Within a year, every hair and lash atop his head or over his eyes was completely gone.

To most kids…to most people…that would be devastating. For David it was difficult. But it was also an opportunity to develop, and he took it.

As his hair thinned, his skin thickened. Middle School is never easy. Becoming a bald kid in Middle School is particularly hard. But David leavened his loaf with gentle good humor and self-depreciating grace. 

He joked that he couldn’t wear contact lenses, because without glasses to provide contrast his bare head looked like an egg. As parents are apt to do, we ached over his condition, and took his travails worse than he did. 

Or at least it seemed we did. Perhaps he hid his anxiety more than he let on. But I don’t think so. David tends not to worry about what he can’t control, and knows that clarity about what matters provides clarity about what doesn’t.

A stranger in a restaurant once wished David well and offered him her prayers. After she walked away, he realized she thought he had cancer. Rather than bemoan her assumption, he appreciated her kindness and counted his blessings. 

“A lot of kids really do have cancer,” he said. “My biggest problem is I lost my hair. I’m fine.”

Because of his attitude, hustle, intelligence, and instincts, David became very good at several sports. His challenge was deciding which to choose. 

He couldn’t. So he selected them all. 

Through adolescence (and now into adulthood) he played golf, baseball, and basketball. But while sports are a passion, he has other priorities. 

His highest is to Christ, and His Church. Since before Confirmation he’s been actively engaged in parish youth programs, and became one their leaders the last couple years. 

He preaches by practicing, and leads by example. He not only fulfills the obligations of his Faith, but instructs younger kids and leads group retreats to ensure everyone else understands it too. He’s always known what matters most.

Despite boundless potential, David respects his limits, but often underestimates how distant they are. It’s been said habits start as cobwebs, but become steel chains. His challenge is to keep forging good ones that will help him lift, and not bind, his remarkable ability.

As we noted a couple years ago, most of the time parents will spend in person with their children has lapsed by the time the kids receive their high school diploma. David will receive his in May, so we reluctantly accept our time is short.

We’ll hate to see him go. But it would be worse were he unable to leave.

A parent’s job isn’t to raise kids; it’s to raise adults. Today our second son rises to that rank. But long before he attained his majority, he’d already become a remarkable man.

And for eighteen years, he’s made his father a better one too.

JD