Text Message
Sunday, October 11, 2009
It has become our habit—my son texting me at the end of his weekend nights to let me know how the evening's gone for him. It was his decision to begin this tradition, his way of giving me a certain measure of peace. Here I come, to this desk at 4 AM. There is the red message light, flashing.
He's got a gang of friends, this son of mine, and the news is always varied. When I read his missives off the tiny screen, I conflate his words with my own imagination.
Hey, Mom, reads the latest. Tonight was great. We pretty much stayed in but then we went to IHop at 2 in the morning. It was really fun.
So that I see him laughing. I see him with his backwards cap and his plate piled high with French toast and extra syrup. I see these friends around him—the guys and the girls—who call him by his nickname, Smooth, and who have become his second family. We live our lives toward so many goals. I live my greatest joys through him.
