Happy birthday, Patrick!

My son Patrick, who is also, I am happy to say, one of my favorite people, is 17 today. (This is him in the birthday sombrero at Cebolla's tonight.)

We parents always say we can't believe how old our kids have gotten. It is hard to believe that it was 17 years ago that we rushed to the hospital in Waukesha, Wisconsin. (It was a good thing we rushed, because he wasn't waiting around! ) On the other hand, it isn't hard for me to believe that he's 17 because he is, in many ways, more mature and responsible than you would expect a teen-aged boy to be.

Patrick and I had some hard years when he was little. There were times when I wasn't sure we would both survive his childhood. Don't ask me how many times he ran off in a public place. Ran. Far. There were some major battles.


But somewhere along the line things started to change and I am very proud of the man my son is growing up to be.

Tonight he is exhausted because he just got back from spending a couple days helping out with his cousins in Indianapolis. They are 11, 6, and 3. Tomorrow he is leaving bright and early for a fishing trip that he'd really rather not be taking, but he knows it's important to his father, so he's going, and not in a sulky teenager way. He'll go and he'll fish and he'll be good company and help with his little brother. And when he comes home I'll take him to Starbucks.