I am the mother of a grown-up child. I am relieved to have made it this far, apprehensive about letting go, nostalgic for the saturated joy of his babyhood and, above all else, bowled over with pride. My son, in my totally biased opinion, is smart, opinionated,witty, kind, interested and interesting. In short, leaving aside a most irritating habit of taking off his shirts without first opening the buttons, a fine young man.
His future belongs to him, his for the taking and his for the making.
But this memory, of a shuttered bedroom on a snowy morning in Padova, is mine.
Happy Birthday, Grown-Up Son.