I’ve never really been one to use the phrase, “my hero is…” and couldn’t even fill in the blank that easily, if asked. However, I’ve found myself thinking, time and again, in recent years, “Wow, he amazes me!” The oldest of my offspring, that is.
Sparing the details, I will say this…if I were asked to choose a hero, I’d pick him.
*Hero–noun, 1. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.*
I have watched, quiet and helpless, as my son has worked, endured, persevered and thrived. He has not only pressed on through situations that would have driven me to curl up with a blanket over my head, but he has come through with dignity and earned respect. Most impressively, I have never, ever heard him complain. My oldest boy has shown strength of mind, body and character that I can’t help but admire.
He is strong with a strength I didn’t, and wouldn’t still, know he posessed had he not gone out and faced the world. He has some stories to tell and I don’t know the half of it. I feel sure God will use them, everyone, someday.
It’s interesting, to say the least, watching our children become adults. There are times when I look back on this boy’s raising and thank God he made it to adulthood, especially as the *unbeknownst-to-Momma* tales unfold around the dinner table. “You what?! When?! Where was I?! Why on earth would you throw a match into a puddle of unknown liquid to see if it’s gasoline or water…inside the garage!?! Have you no brain?!”
All those years my Grandma use to say, “Lord, have mercy!” and I thought it was a figure of speech. I’ve learned otherwise. It was a fervent prayer and I pray it often. And you know what? God answers it!
My little boy, now my big college boy, is all grown up. That doesn’t mean he is fully mature. I think he may never be. Come to think of it, do boys ever really grow up…fully? A part of me hopes not. I love the funny, if pesky, side of my college boy. He brings laughter and fun to our family, though it’s sometimes accompanied by sisters screaming his name. While at school, he lives with his eighty-something year old grandma, by his own choosing and doesn’t have to be told to go to church. He takes his little brother and sister to “do things” and kisses me goodbye when he leaves the house (though I do sometimes have to remind him). He buys sterling and diamond-ish earrings for his sister’s birthday, endures American Idol while college basketball is on the other channel, and always chooses to see the best in people.
I could write a book about my children’s shortcomings; they reflect my own. But in spite of it all, God has turned my big boy into a *make-his-Momma-proud* young man.
Happy Birthday, Sporty! You are a hero in my eyes!