The beauty of my son, the rock star

The beauty of my son Jacob astounds me today.

Today I saw the man in the boy, caught glimpses of the beautiful man he will become.  I had picked him up from his new school, and we were sharing a snack and sunshine in one of the city’s delightful pocket parks.  Jake was sitting on the rim of a fountain. His glasses had gone dark and smoky in the brilliant afternoon light, so I couldn’t tell if his gray eyes were reflecting back the blue of the sky or the green of the trees, they shift so.

He was happy in a quiet sort of way.  I looked at him and saw him, not just my little boy that has always been, but this boy now.  Bigger, older, handsome in his somber uniform of white and navy blue.  There was a teenager-like stillness in him, observing the world while munching his chips.  It was one of those perfect September days New York City sometimes throws at you: the air crackling, warming in the sun, cool in the shade, and Jake so cool in his shades.

 
I know it may sound strange and shallow, but I thank my lucky stars that he is handsome.  Because humans?  We are strange and shallow, we forgive more from the good looking.  We spot them a few points, we give them the benefit of the doubt, assume they are better, smarter, toss them a free pass.  Statistics prove this, it’s a favorite social science study subject: how anything attached to an attractive photo is scored higher than the exact same content tied to the ugly.  Human nature.  Which will work to the advantage for my son’s future, so it is forgiven.  “He’s a little weird, but so handsome, let’s let him in the club.”  See?

I’ve been sporting a lot of fantasies of this future lately, seeing as he’s on the cusp of so much change.  Jake’s finally at a school that is setting the bar nice and high, and he seems to be rising up to the challenges.  The limit?  Pure blue September sky.

Inspired by a Scooby Do episode Jacob recently announced: “I want to be a rock star, Mom, I want to go on stage, can I go play on stage?”  And I had an epiphany.  What a perfect job for Jacob that would be: drummer in a rock and roll band.  He would make a terrific rock star.  Large, handsome and strong, he is very musical, loves to sing, has great rhythm. And?  Drummers?  No one expects them to talk much.  And all that banging and stomping?  He’d be getting his sensory needs met while having a blast.  His maniacal laugh, his big, big over-the-top personality?  Rock and roll, baby!  I’m smelling a win-win here.

Next step: get him a drum set.  And pray the neighbors are deaf, understanding or better yet, both.

My son, the rock star. I could live with that.

(For those of you living in NYC who are about to call me out at the “brilliant sunshine” reference on this gray and stormy day {Brooklyn Tornado!}, I hereby confess that the actual “today” of this post was yesterday, Wednesday. It took me until now to decipher my chicken scrawled notes and get it up on the computer. Freaking sticklers.)