“When I grow up, I’ll be a man!” you declare, your face shining with delight. I give your tummy a gentle tickle, barely concealed by your well-loved Superman T-shirt. “Yes,” I reply, managing a smile, “one day you will be a man.”
Yet, as I beam back at you, my heart fills with unspoken thoughts and a mix of joy and sorrow. The day will come when those tiny fingers holding mine will let go, and I’ll miss the soft touch of your palm as we stroll together, searching for squirrels that are clearly dodging our playful chase. Your hand will belong to someone else, reaching out for the strong, capable hands of adulthood. Those quiet moments of trust between us may fade from your memory, but they will forever be etched in my heart.
When you become a man, you won’t seek my permission anymore. The hopeful “Can I, Mommy?” that sparkles in your eyes will be replaced with a confident assertion of your own desires. You’ll carve out your own path, and I’ll be there, cheering you on from the sidelines, your biggest fan.
As a grown man, you won’t need me to tuck you in, craving my presence as you drift off to sleep. No more requests for just one more rendition of “Wheels on the Bus,” or desperate hugs before the lights dim. You will have your own space, possibly sharing it with someone special who will be the last face you see before closing your eyes. Still, I’ll always yearn for one last lullaby or a sweet “Goodnight, Mama” as I flip the switch.
In your manhood, you won’t curl up on the couch with your blanket, seeking comfort in my embrace. Jumping in puddles, calling yellow “yeh-yoh,” or throwing your arms around my neck after a small victory will become memories of the past. You won’t scale the kitchen counter to proclaim your height over mine, but I’ll cherish those moments when I spun you around in delight, despite my mock scolding.
Becoming a man means embracing responsibility and restraint, all the things that come with adulthood. Still, I can’t help but hope you’ll find time to splash in puddles once in a while or mispronounce “yellow” just for old times’ sake.
You’ll grow strong, funny, and kind, and I like to imagine you’ll still write love letters—this time filled with heartfelt words for your significant other. You may even find yourself singing “Wheels on the Bus” at bedtime, but this time to your own child, who will also plead for just a few more moments with Daddy.
Regardless of how old you get, you’ll always be my son, my joy, my laughter, my bright light. But you won’t completely belong to me anymore.
So, as I watch your face light up with the anticipation of becoming a man, I do my best to match your excitement. “Yes, when you grow up, you’ll be a man,” I affirm.
But today? Today, you’re still my little boy. And I’m holding on to that for as long as I can.
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