Thoughts about a boy

Sunday.

My boys have returned last night from their weeklong ski holidays up north of Sweden, sans yours truly. Other than I had to work, my wrists has not really recovered 100% after my scooter accident from last summer - but I'm getting there. Slowly, but surely.

As soon as my son walked through the door, he flung himself and gave me a big hug. I missed you, he said. I returned his warm embrace with a big smile and a peck on his cheek. I missed you, too, kiddo, I said.

That's my boy!

My 13-year old was beaming with a big smile, his cheeks rosy red. He looked so happy. Our time away from each other did wonders. I realised there and then that he needed that time for himself. It was his alone time. Up in the alps to gather his own thoughts. To chill out. Put behind the daunting pressure of school work on the side. Breathe in some fresh air. Re-focus. Get inspiration and a new perspective on his priorities. It is vital ... it is needed. Bonding with his Dad was a great idea.

Time and again, I have to remind myself that my kid, in his towering height of 5'8 and chiseled features of a swimmer's muscular upper body, firm and long lean legs, is still a child at 13. One can easily mistake him for a full grown adult, but he isn't. I, too, tend to forget. But I get that now. His teen phase, as anyone else's, will pass. It's all part of growing up. This is his discovery-phase. Learning. Wanting and needing. Getting a taste of success and failure. Processing defeat and frustration in his own way. And then comes acceptance that one can't have it all. But this is just a beginning. There's still a lot in store for him. I know fully well he will be just fine. The big life is waiting for him. Life's lessons will teach him well, and hope to God he will learn them just as well.

In any case, teen or adult, he will always be our baby.