Forever Nineteen

I wonder today, "what would you be like at 24 years old?" Would you have more of a beard? Could your voice be any deeper than it already was? Would you still prefer the short short hair? Would you have your own apartment? A nice girlfriend...or wife? Any more children? Would you still be in the same line of work? Would you have taken your music somewhere you always wanted it to go? Would you have let the alcohol overwhelm you, or would you have won that battle?

A thousand questions with no answers. You will never be 24. You are forever 19. Not a boy anymore, but honestly, not quite a man. But always a son. My son. My baby boy. Taller than me, but my baby boy.

I couldn't go to the cemetery today, which is a first for me. Normally I want to go, to change the flowers, to spend some time. I don't know why I feel this way, and I don't care -- I have learned to feel what I feel, to go with it. This year, 2010, your 24th birthday...no cemetery visit.

Your daughter is so much like you. Consequences? "I don't care." You said the same thing to me. (but I learned from you to not give in -- I can outwait her in a way I never outwaited you)She is playing outside today. Like you loved to do. She digs. She climbs. She hugs. She is generous one moment and bullheaded and angry the next. Like you.

Happy Birthday, son, forever 19.