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What my son sees when he looks at me

He sees me apply makeup every morning. Does he translate this to mean I think I am not pretty enough to be natural? Or does he assume I value my presentation and enjoy accentuating my God-given features, more for myself, than the world?

He sees me when I get frustrated in traffic and mutter inappropriate phrases under my breath. Does he think I am always in a rush, running behind and stressed to get everyone to their designated spot for the day? Or does he appreciate my desire and ability to land us safely to our destination and see my frustration as only directed toward others that may threaten our peaceful morning commute?

He sees me cry bitter tears when I am feeling overwhelmed, defeated or attacked in life. Does he think I am sad, depressed or unhappy with my lot in life? Or does he know that those tears are my body’s way of releasing negative emotions? A cleansing, natural, healthy way to balance my very real human feelings.

He sees me shake my head in frustration and sadness when watching or listening to the daily news. Does he translate that to mean his world is crumbling around him in a hopeless disarray of evil destruction? Or does he know the media slants reporting in such a way that we only hear one side of the story, often not the whole truth. And certainly not the hopeful, beautiful loving acts of kindness happening in the world.

He sees me daily working out and at times (not often enough) watching what I put in to my body. Does he think I am unhappy with the vessel I show to the world? Or does he know I love my body and wish to kindly protect, care for and push my physical limits to ensure a healthy and active lifestyle?

He sees me take the country road instead of the faster route through town. Does he think I am not mindful of the time constraints and choose to waste precious time arriving to our destination? Or does he know I prefer to see trees, nature, a random cardinal barely escaping the windshield, a turtle crossing the road after a fresh summer shower?

He sees me laugh. A lot. Does he think I don’t take life seriously? Or does he know the secret to life is finding humor in every situation?

He sees me in the crowd at his basketball and football games. Does he know, despite the rush to get there, and the frustration that comes with getting everyone fed, finding the right shoes and uniform and getting an unobstructed view in the stands, where millions of mothers are all competing for that same 15 inch space, there is no place I would rather be? Does he hear me yell: “That’s my boy!” after a glorious play. Or, “It’s okay, you’ll get ‘em next time.” when he doesn’t quite meet the mark?

He reads the words I write about him. Is he embarrassed that I put his private pre-adolescence on display for all the world to see? Or does he see that writing is my passion and he is my absolute favorite subject and inspiration?

He sees the worry and concern in my eyes when I know he is upset about school, friendships, his future or his place in this world. Does he know I want the very best for him and that my world starts and stops with his happiness, adaptability and passion in this life?

He sees my failures, my moodiness, my drive toward perfection and my disillusions with unmet expectations. Yet. I hope he also sees my passion for life, my perseverance when things get tough, my fighting spirit, my loyalty toward family, my immeasurable love for my two sons and my ability to not be defined by life’s difficulties, but rather define my life with a positive choice in how to overcome those difficulties.

He sees my downfalls. But I have deep faith and ever-present hope that he also sees my heart which beats every second of every day for him.

He is my son. He sees me.

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