Admiration

Who do I most admire? Alice Walker, whose writing makes the thoughts I think more beautiful when reading her work? My husband, who struggles every day with the kind of physical pain few can comprehend, and yet, is the most optimistic person I know? The one I admire most is one who expects any admiration the least. My son is truly who I most admire.

It was never my intention to inflict emotional pain on my only child. Unfortunately, children can be ignored and forgotten in the sea of their parent’s emotional disabilities. Children can be moved all over creation. Children can be hurt by their parent’s ability to love. The loudest voice in my house was always his although he may disagree. His voice was loudest not by volume but by lesson. He was and is a constant reminder to deal with what is under the rug. The rug that comes to every house no matter how many places you live. Loudly and quietly he picked up frayed corners and begged for us all to sweep out the truth and deal with it. While he lived in my house, I could not look under that rug. In his absence the rugs were lifted up and the brooms, dustpans, and mops came out. He was wise enough to realize that he could not carry the burden of being the family truth teller any longer. As a child I was a carrier of that torch until I unknowingly passed it on to him. He could not become a man in my house. Against my wishes, beliefs, and understanding, he chose the toughest road to becoming a man. A mission that most would never choose to endure, to prove he could, to get out of his comfort zone, to grow out and up. How will it be when he comes home? How can I admire him more? It is not his choices that make me admire him, it is his resolve. My hope for him is to see himself as I see him. He is tender, sweet, smart, quick, handsome, brave, honest, wise, deep, funny, and strong.

The dark clouds through which my son views himself are hereditary and learned behaviors. My only consolation to him is that the task master he carries on his back gets quieter with age. The clouds dissipate with time. The choice to embrace happiness does become a habit, and is worth fighting for. In and of him, I see choices that become flaws that then become character. I see blame that becomes a vice that then becomes responsibility. I see innocence hardened by experience that then becomes wisdom. Finally, I see love disguised as pain that will become freedom. My son was born with my adoration. He has earned my admiration.