Learning to Fly

That's my boy on the far left, in his first year o' life

I'm up a little early this morning -- my sleep is all goofy from being in California earlier in the week -- and plus, I think my body knew I needed a bit of processing time to properly prepare for this day.

Thirteen years ago today, I gave birth to a baby boy. Yep, today marks the official beginning of the teenage years, so it seems fitting that my internal ipod chose this song with which to wake me this morning:

I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing

Being a parent is such an incredible gift, such an invitation to explore all the possibilities, and the pitfalls, of the human form. Ranking right up there in both of those categories is learning to let go, to hold on a bit more loosely, to see what is able to flourish when we allow for more space.

In my son's case, I'm constantly amazed at the young man he's rapidly becoming, and I get to be there to celebrate his many victories when he manages to fly, and help cushion the blow when he comes down, which as Tom reminds us, is inevitable sometimes:

I'm learning to fly, around the clouds,
But what goes up must come down

And although a part of me will always miss the infant that he was, that time of almost total dependence, another part celebrates every step he takes toward independence, just as I celebrated his very first steps...