My Son

My Son

Like a surrogate acting as God’s handmaiden, I brought him forth, not created him but carried him for nine months, labored with him for 12 hours, had my stomach ripped and laced again. I nurse him, fed him, diapered him, washed his snot and tears, and even doctored him.  I saw him off to day care, off to kindergarten, off to grade school, off to high school; I even carried him off to college. For thirty years, I rushed first to summer camps, to little league games, to junior high football, to varsity football, and  off to university plays.

Lately, I noticed that our relationship has flip-flopped.  I no longer drive him; he drives me.  I no longer urge him to be careful, he cautions me to look out.  Our lives have come full circle; for I now am the child.