I move a few things on my son’s desk to make room for my laptop. I have an appointment via Zoom in a few moments and my husband is on a work call upstairs in our shared office. I often work at our dining table, but with both of us talking at the same time I’m worried there would be too much distraction at too close of a distance. I retreat to my son’s bedroom.
I have to move a pile of laundry from his desk chair before I sit. There’s still a couple stuffed animals on his bed, each with their own sentimental value. The teddy bear was his father’s when he was young. On his desk are little LEGO figurines lined up, like they’re keeping watch. There’s a coffee mug full of pens, pencils and a pair of scissors. There’s a Snoopy pen left on the middle of his desk; I bet that’s the one he uses most at home — he loves Snoopy. There are greeting cards he’s saved from loved ones over the years. There’s a framed photo of him, me and his dad at Petoskey’s Holiday Open House, in which he’s sitting on his dad’s shoulders.
It seems like that photo was taken just yesterday, but in reality it was 16 years ago. Another life ago, oh how much we’ve lived since then.
I’ve been writing this column every week since January of 2012. Readers who have followed along have followed my son through everything from potty training, me begging him to eat a full meal, to starting kindergarten, moving away and starting life in a new city, losing his father in a tragic accident, having his first job and even starting the college search process. The last of which makes me teary at just the thought.
My son turned 17 this week.
Not often, but every once and awhile, I’ll look back through some of those old columns at just how much he’s grown.
“Five is no longer holding up a couple fingers to show your age. It’s a whole hand, No longer a little kid or a toddler or a preschooler. Five is a big kid who will start kindergarten in a few months — causing your parents to wonder where the last five years have gone,” I wrote in a column back in February of 2014 for his fifth birthday.
Today, as a high school junior, my son is quiet, yet speaks up when needed. He’s not shy about standing up for his beliefs or supporting his friends and classmates. He worries about the environment, human rights and what AI is doing to our world.
He listens to punk rock and plays guitar in a punk rock band with three of his friends, but you may also catch him listening to Fleetwood Mac or Jesse Welles.
He’s reading books I’ve never heard of, doing math I don’t understand and volunteering and taking on extra projects that make a real different in the world around us.
It’s true that kids grow up too fast. As parents we’re quick to complain about the hard stuff — the sleepless nights, the poopy diapers, the food thrown on the floor and smeared on the whatever it is they can get their crusty hands on.
But it does really go by in the blink of an eye, and I definitely blinked. And right now I’d give anything to go back in time and do it again because 18 and high school graduation and leaving for college are all coming way too fast for my liking.
“Five is running so fast it feels like your legs will fall off. Five is your mother wanting you to slow down because you’re running through life too fast,” I said back in that column from 2014.
My son never slowed down, no matter how much I’ve tried. And now I’m doing everything I can to savor every moment before it’s gone, before he’s gone, off into the world on his own.
Rachel Brougham is the former assistant editor of the Petoskey News-Review. You can email her at racheldbrougham@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on The Petoskey News-Review: Time — and my son — never slowed down | Opinion
Reporting by Rachel Brougham, Community Columnist / The Petoskey News-Review
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
