We were all in the midst of the morning grind on the big kid's birthday last week. He was going to school early, and I would bring birthday doughnuts and drinks a little later. I knew I would be walking into his class for just a few minutes, but in front of his whole class nonetheless.
"E, do you want me to put my hair on to bring your goodies?"
"I don't care. No, why, Mom?"
"Well, I'm going into your classroom."
Thank you, Son, for not yet being embarrassed by your mom. For not caring a bit that I have hair or not. For not being impressed by the outer shell of things or people. For looking at what is inside to see what is important and worthy. For thinking I am still cool for one more pre-teen year. Your dad and I have not given you a whole lot of name-brand stuff, and you don't ask for them, don't really care about the label on your jeans. You play with whoever knocks on our door or our xbox, the kids you really like, as well as the kids who really need a friend, and your innocent eyes don't distinguish between the two. I love you, and am so proud of the young man you are becoming, sometimes because of our efforts and sometimes despite our shortcomings.