Children don’t come with instruction manuals. If they did, life, or at least parenting, would be a whole lot easier…
The other day I was thrust into a situation I never, well, at least in times past when life wasn’t so complicated, dreamed I would be in. My dear, sweet, 4 year old son, looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and in his sweetest voice asked me out of nowhere, “Did you find me in the street?”
He’s so young!
I have wondered if he would remember that he wasn’t always mine. Well, he was mine, but not “mine”. You see, Mason was and is, my grandson. Through a terrible series of events, most of which will never be shared, he came into my care at age 8 months. That means that I’ve had him most of his short life. It took a few years, but in May of 2011, I legally adopted him. He was mine before that, but now he is “mine”, if that makes sense.
And here he is now, at this young age, asking me how he came to be my son. It took my breath way. Brought tears to my eyes. Made my head literally spin. Caught me speechless. I thought I had some time before I would have to face these issues. Gosh, kids grow up fast. In his young mind, he has already wrapped his brain around the fact that he came from somewhere that was. not. here.
After I shook free of the shock, I looked him in the eyes and told him, “No. I didn’t find you in the street. I have always loved you. Since the day you were born, and even before that, I have loved you. You are my boy and I will always take care of you.” That satisfied him and he went on his way.
But that was then. What about tomorrow?
Clearly, honesty is the best policy. His parents weren’t able to care for him, so I do, and I always will. There is no going back; those days are dead. Such a heavy burden for a little boy.