Meet The Boy.

What's good?  I have a son.

What's bad?   He has ME for a mother.

What's the difference?  Poor kid has never had a chance to be un-wierd.

I'll call my son The Boy.  While this is not the name on his birth certificate, it's close enough.  Since day one of his life, my father has called him The Boy, as if it were a title he alone held.  "Where's The Boy?"  "What's The Boy doing?"  "We're going to take The Boy for ice cream, you wanna go?"  He called him The Boy so much that at various times over the years you'd hear other family members, my friends, and even some of my co-workers refer to my son as The Boy.  So it seems appropriate for here, to me at least.

That was my father's name for him.  My name for him during much of his younger years, from about 1 1/2 to 9 or 10, was Heathen Child.  In so many ways my name suited him so much more, especially once his personality started shining through.  But that's a whole different story.

I can use all the old tried and true platitudes regarding my son.  He's my sole reason for existence, my shining star, my every pride and joy.  He became all the human I ever hoped he would be and then some.  And he's a jerk, a brat, and my biggest irritant.  I don't think he's happy unless he's picking on me or twisting my words around.

Being the single parent that I was, over the years I've evolved from his cocoon of safety and teacher of basic functions, to his biggest homework nag and "girl explainer."  I taught him how to do what was right, and sometimes how NOT to by example.  I attended every wrestling and football function, every boyscout meeting and singing lesson, and coached T-ball and soccer.  I was a parent, a strict disciplinarian, a guide.  His biggest fan and loudest cheerleader, I was also his meanest teacher and most demanding boss.

The Boy is now 26, a full-grown, gainfully employed adult in his own right.  And I've evolved once again.  I am now his friend and we are roommates.  Yes, we share a house.  He moved back in with me a few years ago when life hit him upside the head a little too hard.  I willingly and happily provided the safety and shelter he needed until he could get back on his feet again.  For a short while we were equally contributing adult roommates and he was planning to get his own place.

Then my health hit me upside the head a little harder than I could handle and he's staying on to support me.  That's true friendship and the true give and take of family.  He could easily have said, "See ya later, I'll mow your lawn once a week."  He didn't.  He said, "You can't afford to live here if I take my pay away, can you?"  And so he put his life plans on hold and stayed for me.  And I've never been prouder of him.  Grateful, yes.  But proud of the type of person he's become.

So, he's the bread winner and I can finally be the stay-at-home mom I always wished I could have been when he was younger.  

The Boy is a huge part of my home and my life.  And you'll probably see many conversations between us on here, such as tonight's when he got home from work.

The Boy:  It was busy at work today.  How was your day?

Me:  Good.  I took a shower.

The Boy:  Good job!!  I'm so proud of you.

And that's our life.

As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)