Every time a child goes from seventeen to eighteen it is an occasion for celebration, often times mixed with a little bit of trepidation. Oh no, adult consequences to go with adult actions. I have watched three of my sons and two of my nieces cross this momentous (albeit artificial) line between childhood and adulthood. It is very exciting. It is time to leave home. To try things out for yourself. To experience the world with some independence from one's parents. To fly solo and not look back over your should to see who might be watching your flight path. Such an adventure.
In this case, it is a particularly sweet day to become eighteen--my yongest son is a childhood cancer survivor, so his ability to reach adulthood was not as much of a given. He reminded us that there are no guarentees very early in his life, and we cannot forget those lessons learned. I struggle against the overvaluation of every milestone with him, but it is a difficult battle. In truth, things are harder for him, so every gain is all the sweeter for the struggle to get there. Cancer is a dim memory for him, 2/3 of his life ago, but for me I can blink and in that moment that it takes to close and open my eyes, I can be transported back to the time when he was first diagnosed. I can cry that instantly, the hurt of it is so near the surface of my consciousness. So to have that child, once so close to not lasting another day, much less to adulthood, cross the threshold into being a grown up creates a need to celebrate like no other eighteenth birthday I can imagine. So, I say "Joyeux anniversaire, mon fils". Once more, with feeling.
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