May 13

Jack recently turned 17. He’s driving now, applying to colleges. I wish you all could meet him. It is such a blessing to be present in this house with him. His mild-mannered good humor, his fastidious and studious nature, his sensitivity. Carol Warner Shields described mothers (as seen by their children) as a benign watercolor blob, and honestly that’s a bit how I see Jack in my peripheral vision. Benign. Fuzzy, pillowy. No sharp edges. Kind.

Weird Al Yankovic said something about his daughter Nina recently in a podcast – I transcribed it here. In answer to the podcast host’s question “What period of your life do you often daydream about?” he responds this way:

My daughter’s childhood. It would be great if we had a Nina at every age living in our house, just age 1 through 22. Each one is so special and so beautiful and lovely and something just unique about every age. It’s such a sense of loss when that person becomes something else equally good, but you’re missing the other person.

I love Jack at 17. Loved him at 14. Sometimes I do miss him at 10, and 7, and 3. I can’t wait to see the remaining years unfold for him, see what adventures he has as he bursts out into the world and life of his own making. “Burst” seems too explosive and destructive a metaphor – as he unfurls, expands, like a flower, like a series of flowers, the old blooms dying as the new ones emerge. I guess this blog is something like me pressing the petals in the pages of a book, so I can keep something of what he was even as we enjoy all of what he is.