10 Years Ago . . .

Ten years ago, our nation was still trying to make sense of the terrorist attacks which had devastated us the year before. We were battling in Afghanistan, and were debating a second war in Iraq. The first tremors were hitting our economy with names like Enron and WorldCom. In the midst of all that, on June 4th, after an anxious but relatively easy labor, I met my son for the first time.

I held him, tiny enough to fit from hand to elbow in one arm, and felt a giant sense of relief. Past the point of no return, I could no longer fret over the decision to bring a child into this terrifying world. I fizzed with excitement.

Some children are old souls. You can see the wisdom in their newborn eyes, and know that they'll make it through. Sam was different. He shone with newness and was truly an innocent. When he slept he alternately frowned and chuckled as if angels were talking to him, as if they hadn't quite let him go yet. Everything was a wonder. I was awestruck with the incredible responsibility of protecting him, and teaching him.

In ten years, Sam has been as much my teacher as I have been his. He expanded my emotional capacity like a balloon inflating. Thanks to him I have know greater joy, stronger anger, unbridled frustration, and breathtaking fear. Above all, unquenchable love.

In our house today, wars involve Nerf guns and our battles are over homework. Sam's life has -- of course -- been shaped by the aftermath of the year in which he was born, but he has a brilliant innocence and quirkiness that eclipses current events. His gift to me is a constant undercurrent of hope. I am blessed to have him in my life. He has made me a better person, and I look forward to knowing him for many, many more adventures. Happy birthday, beloved son.

An Eight Year Old's Joke

Sam: Why did the onion shoot potatoes?


Mom: I don't know. Why?


Sam: Because they're friends!


Mom: That doesn't make any sense.


Sam: I know. I don't get it either.

My beautiful boy

We had to cut off all his hair. Don't ask why. The only good thing was that he allowed me to take some portraits of his new hairstyle. Doesn't he look nice! More pictures on Flickr.

Seven

I'm astonished. Sam is seven. He's been seven for more than a month now. Seven years since I first met him, welcomed him with a sigh of relief that confounded Will. I look across these years and I can't remember so much of them; I am grateful for the pictures we took that captured who he was because he's so much more now, but I regret not memorizing every last moment, especially the trivial ones not worthy of a camera.

Sam is my salvation. Not on a personal level, but on a grander scale. He is, in every sense of the word, a child of September 11, 2001. He was conceived just before then, my pregnancy was clouded by those events, and that event will always be part of his culture. But my boy, my sweet child, carried me through. When I got scared or anxious about the world I was bringing him into, I promised myself that, in having a child right then, I was not only expressing my hope in the future, I was _making_ a future - one of love and family and goodness.

I remember the joy that filled me as I ran to his day care to see him, and the lightness that filled me when he lay (drooling!) in my arms. Now he challenges me and exasperates me and astonishes me, and I don't think I'm as good a parent as I could be, but I do know that my son is love and joy and heart, and I am grateful for the chance to know him.

Junior partner

My son walked the dog with me this morning. He is a joyful person, and while the good cheer did not entirely transfer to me, I certainly forgot the cold that is nesting in my throat. In the past he has had trouble keeping up with us, but today he raced ahead, kicking up clouds of dandelion fluff, finding random sidewalk treasures to share, and tossing his head back so his laughter rose through the trees. In our little private time together we sniffed lilacs and he told me how nice it is to have me all to himself. Of course, he is still a boy, and nothing delighted him more than running ahead of me and then turning around to announce, loudly, that he just farted, burped, or both.