Not mine, my son’s.
My 15 year old, “He cannot be growing up this fast”, son.
It’s odd. You know this day is going to come eventually, but when it does it’s terribly surreal. Dressing up, buying a corsage, picking up the girl from her mom’s house, walking to the door together and paying for her ticket in. It was amazing to get to be part of that moment with him. You know, in a walk-50-paces-behind-them-and-try-to-look-invisible, sort of way.
She is a nice, nice girl. I work for the Charter school they both attend, and she’s by far one of my favorite high schoolers. He’s totally at ease around her, which made the 26 mile drive to the dance a great experience. She makes him laugh out loud, and talks enough for the both of them. A good thing, as the car would be completely silent if it were up to either him or I.
So here I am in my classroom. Not chaperoning. Per his request.
It’s ok, I know he loves me.