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You shake their hand, look them in the eye, say hello.
You say "Please" and "Thank you".
I've seen you work hard for others; I've seen you delight and captivate the younger children at church or in the neighborhood.
I know you're in there.
Somewhere.
My little boy.
My big boy.
My first-born.
My almost-man.
Come back to me.
Please.
Posted by
Hugs.....
ReplyDeleteYour story sounds so familiar. Mine doesn't smoke pot. He gets arrested for threatening to kill the school principal. Flips out and tries to throw a chair at a teacher and thankfully misses. Calls me a bitch & storms out of the house in the middle of winter without a coat. And stays out until I'm beside myself. Then out of the blue, my 6' 3" boy turned man puts his head on my shoulder and cries like a little kid. Somehow we/they get through this - maybe the same way our parents did. xo
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