My family got together for lunch to celebrate my mom’s birthday. I won’t tell you how old she is, but I will tell you that I hope to look as good as she does when I am her age. We already have the same hair style, so I’m halfway there.
While we waited for our food, my mom held Avery and my dad held Cole. “When you were younger, did you ever envision anything like this?” I asked my mom. She scanned the table then shook her head. “No, no way,” she said. She repeated the question for my dad. He wrinkled his lip and shook his head as well. “Why?” I asked. “I don’t know,” my mom said. She paused. “We had no grandkids then we had one grandkid and then all of a sudden we have four grandkids,” she said. She’s right; there’s no timetable for life.
My mom and dad pumped out three kids by their mid-20s. I have no idea how they did that. I was there, but I have no recollection. They gave up their youth to start a family and commit their lives to all of the private school tuition and baseball practices and games that came with it. The trade-off, I suppose, is that they’re both relatively young at the time when their three sons are adults (barely, in Matty’s case) and they’ve still got the energy to keep up with their grandchildren. I’ll be 54 when Cole and Avery graduate from high school. What the hell does that even mean? She’s right; the future is unimaginable.
Happy birthday, mom. I know that I’ll never know the sum total of money, time, effort, energy, and care that you’ve invested in Matty, Paul, and me. It is my sincere hope that everyday the three of us make you believe it was worth it.