Don't Forget the Key's Under the Mat

It’s been the same every year on this day. I never can believe that he’s as old as he is. It’s his last real milestone to adulthood. He’s 21 today. In fifteen minutes, to be exact. The only one I have and I always knew he’d be the only one. As much as I always loved him, it wasn’t fair to even try to love someone else that much. I just don’t think I could.

He’s been my favorite person since the moment he started being his own person. My baby, my buddy, my biggest fan, my confidante, my partner in crime, my adventure accomplice, my concert companion, my ride-or-die, my travel copilot, my best friend.

We talk almost every day. My heart hopes it will always be that way, but my mind knows that I shouldn’t expect him to live his life for me. He’s out on his own now. People have asked me if that hurts. It’s two things. I miss him. Lord, do I miss him. I didn’t bake him a cake for the first time in his life this year. That breaks my heart more than I can find words to tell. I bought the ingredients because it’s instinct, so maybe I’ll bake one for him anyway and share it in his honor. But also, this is what we’re supposed to do. We’re supposed to help them be ready to leave. We give them love and support and the tools they need to leave us. As parents, it’s the most bittersweet part I’ve come to yet.

I’ve been sorting through photos trying to choose for this post. I got it down to like 70. I think that’s pretty good, considering. Maybe I’ll include them all. I’m just so proud of him. I’m proud of how tall and handsome he is. He looks like the precise combination of my mom’s dad and my dad. Every once in a while, he looks like his own dad, but not often. The genes in my family are strong. We don’t so much have babies and clone ourselves. At least the first-born. Everyone has always said he favors my baby brother. My only full sibling. That’s his closest male relative. And they aren’t wrong. But they fail to mention that it’s because me and my baby brother are carbon copies of each other. The older he gets, the more he looks like our grandfather, Nanny’s husband. But Gabe inherited Pawpaw’s eyes. So did Mama. So did I. Nanny said they’re the Payne eyes and about half the reason I think she fell in love with that handsome devil.

And yes, it’s true, the kid is beautiful. Classically beautiful. He’s not hard to imagine as a Greek hero, fully armored and helmeted, carved in stone, a little too close to Perseus for Medusa to care for.

But you know, he’s got way more going for him than that. He’s such a gentle guy. He always has been. Kids and animals gravitate to him. He’s protective by nature. He swatted one of my friend’s hand because I’d said “don’t touch me” because I was a plague rat and the guy reached out to touch my hair anyway.

His sense of justice is strong and unflappable. That part is black and white for him. He’s deeply introspective and thoughtful. He’s always had this presence to explore his morals and beliefs. At maybe nine, he was in the back seat of the car and said “Mom?” in that way that made me know it was something profound to him. I asked him what and he said “I know that sometimes boys hurt girls. I want girls to know I won’t hurt them.” I think I immediately got choked up and told him that the most important part of all of that is that he knows he’s safe and will act accordingly. Girls will know he’s a safe guy. And I hold that to this day. A man who is worried that he may frighten women because he could hurt them is a man that women know is safe. It was one of those moments that I knew I was doing okay with this parenting thing.

Another time he says that he heard that tampons are taxed more than other stuff. I told him about the luxury tax and that all such hygiene products were taxed that way. He asked if Band-Aids were taxed as a luxury. I told him no and he was ticked all the way off saying “well, it’s basically the same thing.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not the same thing because men use Band-Aids and so our system isn’t going to apply the same rules.

Ask me later about his coming home from a visit with his dad asking about “Adam and Steve” and asking me what a Libertarian is, or even that time he asked me if I was going to marry a woman. I wasn’t coming out to my kid, I swear.

 Adults find him interesting and a good conversationalist. His manners are immaculate. Except maybe in crowds a few times in his life. He won’t stand in the front row of a concert because he’s tall and he knows someone behind him won’t be able to see. For always having a pretty small team, he’s a fantastic team player.

He’s got good work ethic. Even for the worst jobs. His managers always like him. It’s not that he’s a strict rule-follower or a pushover, but he knows the value of working to earn your pay.

He was born a fighter. From that first wide-eyed, off-color breath, he fights with all he has. Not sure where he gets that either. Almost killed us both to get him here, but here we are, all these years later.

He’s so smart. His mind for building, electricity, technology, engineering, machinery, makes me look inept at best.

He's cool in a way it takes most people their whole lives to be. He's always had his own sense of style and doesn't care if it's trendy or not. He likes it and so that's it. It's effortless because it's genuine.

But he's never too cool to be in a picture with Mom or Nanny, or one of the babies.

He’s strong-willed. I still don’t know where that comes from. You can’t tell him a thing. He can’t observe and learn from anyone else’s lessons.

He’s thoughtful. Little things. Emptying the coffee grounds from the coffee maker because I mentioned that I’d done it before bed one night and the next morning it was like a little present to myself. The sort of things I hope he does for his partners in the future. Small things that show you were thinking about them without asking and without expectation of praise.

He’s good. I did okay. He tells me that he couldn’t have asked for a better mom. I know I could have done so much more, but he turned out incredible anyway. That part was less me and more his own self. I’m proud of you, son. Go forth and do the great things I know you will. I love you. Happy Birthday. You're the best luck I ever had.