4 July 2004
Also on the birthday roster
Today my son Russell is twenty-three, an age where I distinctly remember thinking, "Aren't things supposed to start making sense about now?" They are, and yet they aren't; by now, the wackyness of adolescence is starting to disappear, and it's replaced by what? The transition from party animal to family man doesn't happen overnight, and the period of adjustment takes longer than either of us ever imagined. (Okay, I wasn't much of a party animal, but you get the idea.) It's nothing he can't handle, though. While he seems to have picked up my mannerisms and penchant for nonlinear thinking, he's also got his mother's bulldog tenacity, which is proving to be far more useful. His life is securely anchored; all he has to do now is determine how to best to navigate.
In the next office over, someone is twenty-three and then some (never mind how many) today. Your basic Oklahoma farm girl, her wants are simple, and her emotional baggage, so far as I can tell, is confined to one small carry-on piece. Incredibly sweet and mostly even-tempered in other words, the exact opposite of me she really deserves better than this tedious workaday existence. I don't know when, exactly, but I'm convinced someday somebody will walk up to her and say something like this:
It's not much of a spread a few acres, just enough of a crop to sell and a little left over to feed the livestock but it's mine, and someday I want it to be ours.
And the floodgates will open and she'll rush into his arms and they'll live happily ever after and I'll find out once and for all if I'm going to miss her as much as I think I will.Posted at 6:11 AM to General Disinterest