How It Works, Part II
On September 3, 2014 | 1 Comments | parenting, William |

The plush frog was a gift sometime during the first year. With a music box embedded in its belly, a fabric-covered pull-string attached to its back, and a loop tied at the top of its head, the frog was the perfect toy to hang in the corner of the crib.

I don’t remember how old he was when he figured out how it worked, when he pulled on the string and the music announced to me through the mechanism of the baby monitor: William is awake.
I know he was barely two when he could recite, word-for-word with his charming lisp, the entire text of The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge.
And it was around that time we started building rockets out of the wooden blocks. These are soundless toys until the inevitable collapse: thuds on the carpet, the wood-softened clatter.
Other sounds. The splash and swirl of the bathwater, the unmistakable and low-pitched squeak of naked flesh on fiberglass. The pop of the stomp-rocket in the driveway. The thin metal chassis of Matchbox cars and the fierce rush of their plastic wheels along the wood floor.
From about the time he turned seven, we frequently awakened to the clatter of Lego blocks in their bin, his arm churning through it to find an essential piece. Or their wide-open chatter as he poured the blocks onto the living room rug.
The mania of Looney Tunes. The electric throb of light sabers. The pulsing orchestration of video games.
Then there were also the slam and slur of roller blades in the cul-de-sac. The crack and roar of the skateboard. The bang and rattle of the basketball hoop.
At the soccer sidelines, I watched his lean lope, his hungry run. And with these came the thunder of his feet as he ran down the ball; the harsh, desperate, man-sized cries– teammates calling to one another over the field.
Now it’s the roar of his car as he starts in the driveway, the purr when he pulls in after work. He comes through the front door singing: “It’s how we know he’s home,” Emma says. He bangs out his own compositions on the piano. He abandons the piano for the guitar. He holds band practice in the basement and there’s not a quiet corner in the house. I came home on Saturday afternoon to the sound of Will and Everett and two friends wrestling in the basement. Laughter, shouting, more laughter.
He graduated from high school in May. A week-and-a-half ago he turned eighteen. And in three days shy of two months, he leaves for six months to join Mercy Ships, the gone-from-home portion of his gap year. He won’t be home for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas.
And of course, I want him to go. It would be some awful perversion to want anything but that. We raised him entirely (didn’t we?) for this: the growing up, the moving on, the becoming his own person in the world.
But it will be so quiet here without him. 
Comments 1
Waterer Posted September 4, 2014 at12:01 pm   Reply

So well said!! Beautiful little boy with the unique freckle and wide crinkle eyed smile. I hope for a great stretching and formative time on the ship. A new adventure .He will bring you and Bill with him into it even though you won't know you are there.

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