I have two sons.
My boys were born nearly 11 years apart. Given the difference, they both got different advantages. I was 24 years old when I had Zach. We PLAYED together. Crawling through ball pits and sliding down slides,getting dirty, shit like that. It was fun. Joey was born when I was 35. We played together as well, but it was quieter play, gentler play. It was play that didn’t wreck my knees. On the other hand, Joey got that much more patient mom. He’d probably laugh at that and say it wasn’t true. Sadly, as impatient as I am now, I was MUCH worse in my twenties.
I’ve written about my older son quite a bit on my other blog. He’s a heroin addict. Much of my life over the past 6 years has revolved around my son’s drug use and trying to keep the breath taking fear from running rampant. He moved out last year and he’s been clean longer than that. I am not holding my breath anymore but still not completely convinced that it’s over. I will continue to hope.
My blog posts about my son and his addiction have turned into a writing project that I’ve been working on kind of half-hearted for the past year. I’m tired of fucking around. I want to finish it and let it go. I want to finish growing from living through this nightmare. I am ready to be content and happy more often than I’m not. That’s all I want.
I have not written much about Joey.
He is 15 years old now and just landed his first job this week. He will be operating a game at a local amusement park. He’s beginning his Sophomore year and is actually excited about starting school. When I was pregnant with him, his dad wanted to name him Elvis. We settled on Joey Ramone.
Joey has RARELY been cause of stress to me. However, that doesn’t mean that I have nothing to say about him.
He was a gorgeous baby. Not just ‘all mother’s think their babies are pretty’ gorgeous, he was fucking stunning. It was standard for us to hear strangers say ,”That is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen” .
He started speaking early on. Before he was a year old, he had a vocabulary of over 20 words and by age 3 he was reading. When he first started talking, we taught him to respond to the question “What’s your name”? with “I’m Batman”. He even whisper/growled it. I wish I had video of this. Sooner or later these memories are going to curl up around the edges.
Joey is kind and giving and compassionate. He’s a geek and can be a huge pain in the ass if he plays video games for too long. He’s loved chicken wings since he got teeth and he has the best hair I have ever seen in my life.
He made the neighbors laugh by doing a Jeff Foxworthy bit when he was 7 years old. He didn’t SOUND like Foxworthy, but he had that ‘beaver bit a guys nipple clean off’ routine down cold. He’s been doing impressions ever since. So far, he can either sound like the old creepy man on Family Guy or The Terminator. I have to say, both of them are pretty damn good.
I worry about Joey because I am a professional level worrier, but I am not afraid for him. He’s going to be fine. I’m not saying he won’t suffer the normal knocks most young adults get, but he’s going to come out on the other side of that without a hitch.
I know this.
I know this because I can’t envision it any other way.
I may not have written about my baby boy, but that’s because I didn’t need to. I never feel fear backing up with Joey. Not ever. Joey is like a soft fluffy blanket. Like EXTRA soft. Like the softest baby blanket at the baby shower soft.
So, this blog post is for my baby boy. I’m beyond proud of him and he’s quite possibly the only teenager I’ve WANTED to hang out with in 3 decades.
And yes, that picture is Joey, the Summer he was 9 years old.