Sitting down to dinner, I find myself staring at the side of my son’s face. He doesn’t know I’m watching.
It’s a child’s face. A boy’s face. But not a baby’s face. Not even a young child’s face. He’s nine. His skin is smooth. And soft, still. Perfect. But it won’t always be. For an instant, in my mind’s eye, I catch a glimpse of this face as a teenage face. Continue reading