My Boy's Growing Up

My son is 15 years old. I should certainly be used to the fact that he's not my "baby" any more. We both made it through his freshman year unscathed and are getting settled into summer vacation. I'm sure he'd rather I didn't write too much about him specifically, but I'm having an incredible "proud parent" moment.

This afternoon he attended a concert by Midsummer's Music, a chamber group based in Door County. I've never had the pleasure of hearing them, but they must be fabulous. After the concert, my boy wanted to pull out his violin and start practicing right away. Now, during the school year he'll practice periodically without much urging. But it's sporadic. I suppose, like a true artist, he needs to be inspired. This group apparently touched a chord in him. It makes me so proud as a mother to see him so enthused about something of his own choosing. Naturally, we encouraged him to try an instrument back in fifth grade. He made his choice and is in his fifth year playing. He's good at it, he enjoys it, and he's voluntarily spending time at it. How incredible to see my child growing into his own identity!

Every now and then there are things that remind me that he's growing up. Oh, they aren't as monumental, perhaps, as first the first smile, steps, or words. But they seem to make me just as proud. Last week one of his friends dropped by and they headed out on their bikes. I've always been on the overprotective side, I admit. But as he matures, so do I. They spent the afternoon just out "bumming around," then came back to the house for a few hands of cribbage on the porch. He's got his own friends, his own interests. He's a regular human being, well on his way to becoming a regular, well-adjusted adult.

I can't take credit for all of it, but I sure enjoy being a part of it.