Bittersweet

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