As we sit here in the middle of the power outage, I look at you in wonder, wishing the light would flick on so I could see you as I write. You’ve grown this year, and you’re currently the tallest one in the house (and probably always will be). You’ve cut your long hair, and now you look like the soccer player that you are (and aspire to be). Your muscles, your voice, your hugs—all of them have changed this year. Leaner, deeper, stronger. You’re not the round little boy I know from yesteryear.
But last night, when you were ready for bed, you skidded into my room, threw the covers off the bed, and slipped in next to me. You gently placed your arm around my shoulders and snuggled your head against mine. In a rare moment, you said, “I love you,” before rolling to the side, jumping out of bed, and running back down the hall. And in that minute, I recognized you.
Your sweetness. Your intellect. Your silliness. Your perseverance. Your meticulousness. Your conscientious. Your irreverence. Your snarkiness. Your compassion.
Green eyes or blue, long hair or short, you’ve always been my curious, courageous, absent-minded child. And I love you.
Happy fifteenth birthday, Aaron!