Eleven years old is a weird age.
You are stuck in the middle of being too old and too young. The glow of innocence fades a bit and the queered eyebrows of realization that the world is not all sunshine and lollipops kicks in.
Hudson turns 11 today. He is 5 foot 6 and about 120lbs, so basically a small man in physical stature, but still just a boy. I only now starting to recognize the man he is slowly becoming. Before he was just a mish mash of whining, glibness, downright hilarity and occasional door jarring histrionics.
Lately though, I can hear the sharp tongue of an actual definable sense of humour, which to me, along with empathy and integrity, are pretty much the three most important characteristics any person can have. I also can recognize the scary strategy of manipulation, the c’mon Dad, lets walk to Macs Milk for some father son time, when Zangy Taffy is the real goal. These decisions, these contemplations are all part of the accelerated time line that I watch with such interest dread curiosity joy and find myself standing closer to him, holding his shirt down to ensure he does not grow up and old too fast.
He is starting grade six in two weeks, but not before nine days at the cottage with Tasman and I. We will fish and fart and flail about each other. Reconnecting after a strange summer of purposeful detachment. I for one can’t wait.
Happy Birthday my sweet beautiful Hudson.
love that the pic is at teh LCBO….