I found this little essay I wrote 17 years ago … no, it can't be that long since my now 26-year-old son was nine years old!!!
It was perhaps the simplest form of love.
My most memorable Valentine’s Day was chaperoning my nine-year-old son as he went out with a girl he called his friend. She was quiet, her voice barely above a whisper when she talked to my husband and me. (Of course, they had chatted non-stop in the car’s back seat.)
“What pizza topping do you want, hon?”
Whisper whisper whisper.
“I’m sorry, hon, which one do you want?”
We caught it this time.
“Pepperoni,” we announced to the waitress.
Her gentleman friend ordered the same before they scurried off to play on the video machine. That was a reassuring feeling, handing over $2 worth of quarters to the pair. That was still fun at this age.
My heart ached and laughed during the evening. In barely four months, my little boy would reach that hallmark of 10. He was sensitive yet caring, quiet yet the socialite, polite yet still a child. He was the blend of our hopes and dreams, and we knew some tough days were still ahead …
More tomorrow
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