I've got a couple of posts in me that I need to get out. One is for our sixteen year old son, formerly known as the Fifteen year old. That's what you get today.
You know how your parents said to you, when you had worn out their last nerve, "Just wait till you have children of your own."? For me the Sixteen year old is that child. I see in him what I used to be and every day I fight the urge to call my parents and apologize. He is not a bad kid. It's just, well, for one thing, nothing is ever his fault. EVER. Not only that, but, the world is conspiring to make life even more difficult for him. And, by world I mean, mainly, his sister. For me it was my brothers. Oh yes, I remember. There is a word for it. Teenage angst. I cannot change his perception of the world, that is his battle. I can understand where he is coming from, though, and that's where I think he has an advantage over me at his age.
Now I will tell a story that would embarrass the snot out of him. How's that for understanding. As a baby he was the most affectionate of all my children. When he was nursing or just sitting in my arms, he used to take my hair in his chubby little hand and hold it like a security blanky. These days he tends to hold things in and let the tension get to him, but, he is still my most affectionate child in his own way. I can always tell when the tension has broken because he will sneak up behind me and start "fixing" my hair. It's my little sign that things will be OK with him. Things may be difficult, of his own making or maybe the world really is out to get him. He has a foundation of faith, though, that I trust he can always return to no matter where life takes him.
With that and with a massive dose of prayer for his survival on the streets (drivers licence) I wish him a blessed seventeenth year of life.