My Boy

Recently, a friend and his wife had their first son. I congratulated him but he said, jokingly, “Reading your blog about Speedos and girlfriends is scaring me!” He was teasing, I know, but lest there be any doubt from any of my readers, I wish to be clear in one thing: despite the dirt bikes, video games, and ill-advised purchase of European swimwear, my son has been and continues to be an unspeakable joy to me. I’m afraid that parenting of teens sometimes gets a “bad rap” only because it is easy to quantify things like text messaging and curfew violations. I have yet to find the words to adequately describe parental gratitude and delight.

And Ryan is special. He has been congenial (and extroverted) since before he could speak. He is musically gifted. His natural brightness is only obfuscated by his extraordinary procrastinating abilities, which I hope is transient. But these things are not why I say he is special.

These past three years I have observed him deal with sadness and trials that I never had to bear, especially as a kid. I refer to both the declining health and abilities of his dad and to the tragic death of his 2-year-old cousin Sarah.

In our church, when a boy turns 12 he receives the priesthood in a simple ordination ceremony at church. Although by no means required, the boy traditionally wears a new suit for the occasion. Grandparents attend the ordination if they can. It isn’t a huge deal, like a bar mitzvah, but it is special. In the summer of 2005 Ryan’s big day was approaching. He had a new suit from JC Penney and a new pair of shoes. He would look so grown up on Sunday, the day after his birthday.

None of us foresaw that he would be first wearing that suit on his birthday, Saturday, at Sarah’s funeral. I’ll never forget the sight of those new shoes covered with big tear drops as we both carried her coffin. He didn’t say a word. He understood that the birthday and priesthood celebrations would be muted. He never questioned this or complained about it. I think he grew up a lot that week.

With respect to my illness that began in 2006, I’ve witnessed a level of compassion in him that is well beyond his years. Most of the time, he is just good old Ryan, belligerent, self-focused, displaying characteristics typical of his age and gender. But if you watch him very closely, especially when he’s with me, you may see an undercurrent of concern. Little things like how he takes great care when parking in the garage to leave me enough room to get out comfortably, then he waits in the garage for me. On those days when I’m a little wobbly, without being asked he’ll walk very close to me and offer assistance. He notices. He always keeps an eye out for me. A good example of this can be found in my post called Steady on my other blog back in April (before I started this blog.) If you haven’t read it and would like to, click here. Ryan periodically asks me how I’m feeling; he really wants to know. He even reassures me on days when I’m down. I hate that he feels this burden but I love it too, and am completely humbled by it.

One Saturday afternoon just the two of us were home and I needed to take a quick shower. While showering I inadvertently kicked over a couple of shampoo bottles. (It had nothing to do with MS; it was more because the MRS. buys too much at Bed, Bath and Beyond.) Within seconds I heard Ryan’s voice through the door, “Are you OK Dad?” I asked him later what had prompted this query and he said he had heard something and just wanted to be sure I hadn’t fallen.

The thing is, the sound wasn't that loud. Who listens to their dad showering, just to be sure he's OK? What other boy would do that? It’s like having my own guardian angel in the unlikely personage of a teenaged boy.