I doubt he'll be reading this...

My son. Jesse. Isn't he a handsome dude? I doubt that I spent more than a few minutes (if that) fantasizing about having children or worrying or thinking about them before I got married. It wasn't an option, really. I had no intention of having kids. They came with the turf (or marriage contract: Gwen made having two kids a condition of getting married). My eldest--Eleni--is 22 (I launched the blog when she moved out on her own) and now my younger son will be 18 in about a month.
I suppose there are parents who are detached or resent or hate their kids. Most of us are enthralled and enslaved and abashed and humbled by their mere existence. And there are kids who are truly cursed who take advantage of their parents' doting upon them.
My kids, thank God, have thus far trod lightly upon my heart. They have given me enormous joy and pleasure and their childhood has literally whizzed past me. Their co-existence in my homes would be hard to describe to someone who hasn't had children. They are like exotic animals who are benign and tame at the same time. They are like funhouse mirrors that reflect your fondest aspirations and dreams in a purified, glorious form. They come to ineluctably personify all that you hope for in the world.

There are few things more tedious in the world than doting parents (I am patently one) who find everything their brats say or do to be dazzling and fantastic. So I shall be brief. It's not surprising that I hardly ever watch television when I've had such pretty kids who've kept me so thoroughly entertained: Jesse has mastered magic, juggling, dancing, musical instruments, cooking, joke and story telling--so many things that amuse and beguile. I have never heard him say an unkind thing to anyone. He is the son I would have wanted. It's about time I let the world know, especially since I doubt he'll be reading this...