My youngest turned 15 today. Here he is. Isn’t he handsome?

I wish he could see what I see when I look at him. His vision is much different from mine and sadly, not at all accurate.  This is how he used to look:

He looks up at the camera as he’s speaking and then he realizes he’s being filmed. His face lights up and he smiles big. He says, “Now I just need to do the eyes.”

The smile. Oh, God, help me. The smile.

Then he looks down at his palette and says, “But I have no idea what color to paint them.” He says this and his brow furrows and he seems so serious and eager. Like he has a real pickle on his hands. Then, he takes a step back and says, “Mommy, should I do the eyes orange?” and points at the eyes. He’s bouncing back and forth on his feet. He’s got a slight baby quality to his voice still. Orange comes out “or-yinge.”

Plus, he called me “mommy” — did you catch that?

I did.

I can give you the play by play because I’ve memorized it. Its image is seared into my brain. Forever and ever, Amen.

The video came from an old hard drive I had given up on. Matt managed to pull the files off through some sort of magic trickery and deals with the devil. It’s not that I’m not grateful. Eternally so. But seeing all those pictures and videos has finally done my head in. I’ve watched that particular video so many times I see it in my sleep.

All that gorgeous hair is gone now, by the way. He’s been growing it for almost four years now. I loved it. I thought it was beautiful and it just fit him. I got so used to seeing it. It seems like it was always there. Unless I watch that video.

But it had to go.

He started growing it on a lark. He just decided one day he was going to grow it out. Then, after it got to a pretty decent length he heard about the children’s charity called “Locks of Love.” He chose to keep growing and then donate his hair. I thought it was a nice thing for a kid to do. He never fails to surprise or impress me.

So, today he paid the piper. He had been saying all along he was going to cut it on his 15th birthday. At first I thought he wouldn’t make it that long. I thought it would drive him crazy and he would get tired of being teased by the ignorant redneck hicks in this small farming community. I thought it would get old, being confused for a girl by waitstaff and kindly old people. I thought he would get tired of washing it and combing it out and taking care of it. But he kept with it. He smiled politely and waved it off. He held in there a lot longer than I would have been able to.

Then, he liked it. It was unique. It brought attention, sometimes negative, sometimes positive. Then he bristled whenever I mentioned cutting it.

At first I didn’t like it either. It was troublesome and annoying. He wouldn’t take care of it sometimes and it would just be a tangled rat’s nest that I would have to spend hours combing out. I was forever pushing it out of his eyes. It was hot. It was a pain in the summer. I almost hated it.

And then over time it grew on me, so to speak. I was afraid he wouldn’t want to cut it when the time came, but I think I was more afraid that he would. I cried all week. I started dropping little hints and then I started dropping big hints and finally, out of desperation, I came right out and begged him not to cut it.

Lord, I have no shame. I’m so sorry.

But he stood his ground. He intended to do it and do it he would. On his fifteenth birthday, just like he said he would.

I’m glad he did. He looks handsome as ever and about 20 years older. Ugh. That’s what got to me. His age really started showing when all that hair he was hiding under disappeared. It makes it hard to pretend he’s still my baby. You know what I mean?

Anyway, we both survived it, though I had to leave the room more than once. The girls in the salon ooh’d and ahhh’d and he had them eating out of the palm of his hands. To me, they kept “awwwing” and “poor mom” and I wanted to beat them all to death with an oversized can of hairspray.

I’m still afraid for him. I’m afraid he’s going to have trouble at school. Not because he doesn’t look good, but because he doesn’t think he looks good and those creeps feed on that shit. Sad, but true. I’m afraid people won’t look at him and think about this incredible thing he did for another human being who he will never even likely meet. He’ll never get a personal thank you from the person whose life he selflessly touched. I’m afraid they’ll cheapen it and take away, a little at a time, all the sweet things about my son that make him my son. I’m afraid he’ll have regrets. I don’t want him to have regret because he did this thing. This thing he did is not something to regret.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’ll be left alone. Maybe they will either say nothing or only good things. It could happen. And even if he does get some grief, I think he’ll be okay. He’s been teased and tormented for the past four years and he’s taken it all in stride. Many times he could have lessened the degree of the torment, were he to toot his own horn. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t go around telling people what he was doing and was forever embarrassed when people found out. He didn’t want any recognition. He just wanted to be left alone to do this thing he wanted to do for somebody. One of the many times he was called a “faggot”  by some knuckle dragging byproduct he could have defended his actions and turned the ridicule their way. But he didn’t. He just let it be and bided his time. So, no, I don’t think it will kill him if he isn’t met with open arms upon his return to school tomorrow.

And that’s why that video makes me want to scream and go right on screaming until I have to shove my fist in my throat to keep from coming apart at the hinges. It is because that video and today are stark reminders of where we’ve been and where we are going.  It is because time is slipping away and moments like the one in that video and the one today…they’re never coming again. They’re gone and I want them back. It is because I see it in the maturity he displays when dealing with adversity. I see it in the jawline and the eyes. It is because I hear it in his voice. It is because Time is marching on and it has swept my boys up with it as it goes. I fear I am being left behind. He can and will make his own decisions and all I can do is sit back, watch, and hope for the best. It is because he will never call me “mommy” again. He will never ask me what color the eyes should be.

It is because my boys are growing up and I have to deal with it.

God help me, I’m tryin’.

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

-  Mary Oliver