#289

Today is M's birthday. He's 13. Yesterday, Megan said, "It's Michael's last day of childhood." (Megan is keen on the teenager designation.) Without thinking, I responded, "Not really Meg, men are children forever. They just get bigger toys and bigger egos." I felt a stab of remorse for saying it, because I wasn't joking, and it felt cynical and sad, because it's absolutely true. I'm not qualified to disparage, as an insider, the other fifty-some percent of humanity. So, moving on.... Yeah, WTF, Michael's a teenager already?! Time flies. I remember crying more than he did, on this day 13 years ago. He was a big baby, barrel-chested and puffy-faced. I was overwhelmed, amazed, grateful. And proud. I was proud because at one hour, M was already acting like a three-hour-old. Very advanced. He did push-ups in his hospital bassinet, and declined the local anesthetic during his... nevermind.

I am reading Rob Lowe's autobiography. Say what you will, but 'The Outsiders' and that generation of actors and their films informed a lot of my life when I was Michael's age. Unlike me, and unlike Michael also, Rob Lowe didn't have a consistent, present father-figure. This alters his lens, I'd say. Despite this difference, here's an excerpt from Lowe's 'Stories I Only Tell My Friends' apropos for the occasion, the beginning of M's teenagerhood: "Everyone knows that the teenage years are a time of profound emotion. The moody, exuberant, passionate, lethargic teen is a figure that has a special place in the hall of fame of cliches – and for good reason. It's all true. There is no point in reflection. We are so inexperienced, there is very little to reflect on. If we fail a big test, we just move on. We win an award and we smile and say thank you. We fall in love and it's a thrill. We get our hearts broken and we suffer. And we feel all these highs and lows in our absolute core; it feels as if it's never happened to anyone else because it's never happened to us before. Only later can we look back in the comfort perspective brings. I'm writing this looking out the window at my younger son playing with his dog. He is (14 years old). Every parent feels that wondrous, prideful pang when they see glimpses of themselves in their children. I'm no different. I'm looking at him now rolling in the grass, backlit by the afternoon sun. He is a boy-man, wanting everything the world has to offer and ready for none of it. Wanting a girl, with no idea how to get one. Wanting to make a mark in the world but unsure of how to do it. I look at my boy and I'm looking at myself. I want to run out into the yard and tell my young self that it's okay, all will be revealed in time. I want to give the advice I know he needs to hear. And on the occasions when I do talk to my boys about love, career, family, and all of life's unknowable mysteries, I realize that I am also talking to myself. And I wonder: Would my life have turned out differently had I had this perspective."