My Son

My son is lazy.  My son lies.  My son sneaks.  My son is 17.  My son is normal.

My son can look quite innocent while lying to your face.  My son can hide evidence better than the best serial killer.  My son can sulk and hide and bury himself in video games.  My son can look so sad when doubted, even if he KNOWS that he's busted.

My son.

My son can cook dinner for 5 because his parents are running late.  He can walk the dog, do the laundry, and wash the dishes.  He can tell me he misses me when I'm gone to a convention, and hug me when I leave.  He can give me a big hug in front of his friends, and not feel ashamed.  He is very handsome and very friendly.  He's funny and personable.

My son.

My son saw how tired I was last night, and offered to tape ER for me.  He knows I love that show, and knew I was going to miss it by nodding off at 8:30.  He'll watch his sisters tomorrow morning while I visit with my dad and my uncle (who is visiting for the weekend.)  I gripe too much about him, and appreciate him too little.  He's a good kid.  I love him.

My son.