He’s petitioned grandparents for a new gaming system.

He’s booked his buds for a cook-out, sleep-over.

He’s taking his girl out Saturday afternoon after he fences on The Downtown mall.

(Chaperoned.)

He texts as fast as the wind.

He began the year in a size 8 shoe, and I just bought him size 10.5 soccer cleats for the Spring season.

Men’s.

He has a discernable mustache,
his own distinct code of honor.
and a sense of humor that makes him crack himself up.

I love when he laughs at his own jokes.

He still hugs and kisses us goodnight and goodbye.

And writes poetry

(used with permission)

4/13/11

Emotions

It feels like a drawn out sigh,

The prickling of tears you wish you could cry.

It smells like sweat,

That horrible odor.

It looks like a bowed head,

A creased brow.

It sounds like hollow cheer,

But still utterly sad.

It tastes like glue in your mouth,

Silencing your cries.

It is hopelessness.

It feels like a fire

Burning white hot inside you.

It smells like burnt plastic,

Putrid and vile.

It looks like a beet red face,

Like a cherry about to burst.

It sounds loud and incoherent,

Hurtful and sad.

It tastes like a poison

Corrupting your soul

It is anger.

It feels like your flying

High in the sky

It smells like her odor,

That only you know.

It looks like togetherness

And a bonding of two.

It sounds like a heartbeat,

Quick and fast.

It tastes like delight,

And the food you most like.

It is love.

It feels like a warm blanket,

Made just for you.

It smells warm and familiar,

Like a distant memory.

It looks like innocence,

White and pure.

It sounds like a laugh,

Or a well sung song.

It tastes sweet

And also rich.

It is joy.

They feel like a drawn out sigh, like a white hot fire burning inside.

Like the feeling of flying high in the sky, like a warm blanket.

They smell like sweat and burning plastic.

Like an odor and a memory.

They look like a bowed head and a beet red face.

A togetherness and innocence.

They sound utterly sad, mean and horrid.

Like a heartbeat and a laugh.

They taste like glue and like poison.

Like delight and sweetness.

They are emotions.

I love our boy.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
!