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"They grow up too soon," everyone told me. Eighteen years later, I finally understand what they meant.
It's nearly the end of summer break and my son goes out with friends. Ten minutes after he leaves home, I receive his text: Here. It's the same message I've received hundreds of times before -- our agreed-upon shorthand to reassure1 me, and probably him, in some still-unexamined way, that he has arrived safely at his destination. In a matter of days he'll head to college, and this routine, along with many others that have framed our days and nights, will come to an end. Reading that text triggers images stored safely away in my memory, a tiny flip2 book of our lives together.
My constant companion of nine months emerges with his eyes wide open. He's placed on my chest. I feel his heartbeat reverberating3 through mine. All I see are beginnings. Friends who visit caution that time is elusive4, that he'll grow up faster than I can imagine, and to savor5 every moment. But I can't hear them; it's all too clichéd and my child has only just arrived. He's intoxicating6: the beautiful bracelet-like creases7 in his wrists, the way he sounds like a little lamb when he cries. I'm filled with a renewed sense of purpose, of hope, of love. The first few months after he's born are topsy-turvy -- day is night, night is day. When sleep finally returns, so does work. My business suit is tight, my mind preoccupied8. I pump milk in a cold, gray bathroom stall.
His teeth begin to appear. Baby bottles give way to solid foods. He points high above his chair to the clock on the wall. "Clock," he says. It's his first word, minus the "l," and it makes me laugh. Soon he is walking, skipping, making angels in the snow.
I'm promoted at work. It becomes harder to find the time to make playdates and pediatrician appointments. At lunch I read books about nurturing9, teaching, inspiring your child. He calls my office with the help of his baby?sitter. "Momma," he says, "I'm making you a present."
The tooth fairy arrives and leaves him handwritten notes. He discovers knock-knock jokes and learns how to add, subtract, and read. He builds giant castles with giant Legos, rides his shiny bike down a country road with his feet off the pedals.
I quit my job to do freelance writing -- everything from training programs to marketing10 brochures to essays -? usually when the rest of the family is sleeping. There's never enough ?money, but now at least we have time.
Saturday nights are always family nights, spent at home. There are countless11 sporting events. He tries baseball, soccer, and track, then falls head over heels for basketball. He swings from tree limbs, wears superhero costumes, develops crushes, friendships, and fevers.
I volunteer at his school: cut, paste, read, nourish, fund-raise, chaperone. I like this job.
There are marathon bedtime story rituals, endless questions about how things work, and monsters under the bed. Lego pieces grow smaller and castles more intricate. He tries the guitar, plays the trombone, saves ?quarters to buy video games, and collects trading cards, which he keeps in a shoe box under his bed.
We get a dog. He loves this dog with all his heart. The dog loves him back.
One day his height surpasses mine and, seemingly the next, his father's.
He reads an essay by a sportswriter. It lights a fire in him. He starts to write his own stuff, wandering into my office as I try to juggle12 freelance assignments.
I feel privileged to read his work.
Orthodontics are removed to reveal straight pearly whites. He earns his first paycheck as a baseball referee13 but wishes that it had been as a writer.
He learns to do the laundry, scrub the bathroom, and make pasta, though he often professes14 to forget how to do all three.
He turns 18.
On a cold and rainy Election Day we head out together to vote. After two hours waiting in line, he's the only teen in sight. It's not lost on him -- by the next morning he has written all about it.
He gets a job as a blogger, then starts his own website. And all the while there are macroeconomics, physics, and college applications.
The flip book's down to its last pages.
I've defined myself as a mother for 18 years. Who am I now? I look in the mirror. In my quest to help him grow wings, I forgot to grow some of my own. Can I find a new sense of purpose, rechannel the love?
Before I was a mother I was a daughter, infused with energy and the unspoken reassurance15 that my parents would always be there. But I can't be a daughter again. I'm on my own.
Does purpose -- mine, yours, anyone's -- require someone to nurture16 it, or is it inherent in all of us?
I'll soon be putting these competing theories to the test.
As I sit down to write this piece, I receive his text: Where are you?
Here, I text back.
点击收听单词发音
1 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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2 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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3 reverberating | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的现在分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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4 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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5 savor | |
vt.品尝,欣赏;n.味道,风味;情趣,趣味 | |
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6 intoxicating | |
a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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7 creases | |
(使…)起折痕,弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 ); (皮肤)皱起,使起皱纹 | |
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8 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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9 nurturing | |
养育( nurture的现在分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
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10 marketing | |
n.行销,在市场的买卖,买东西 | |
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11 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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12 juggle | |
v.变戏法,纂改,欺骗,同时做;n.玩杂耍,纂改,花招 | |
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13 referee | |
n.裁判员.仲裁人,代表人,鉴定人 | |
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14 professes | |
声称( profess的第三人称单数 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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15 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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16 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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