The wind screams past my ears, blowing against my
face, rifling through my hair. I look to my left and see a boy, legs churning,
smile spreading, eyes alight with a mixture of fun and fear. The rain hits the
trees in the distance, approaching full steam but not yet arrived. We race the
rain.
It was one of those moments I knew I’d remember even
as it was happening. I missed vacation this year. I missed writing. I started a new career with new challenges that threw this summer into a tailspin. Mom and
son went up to New York to see family without me. But this race, our race in
the rain was better than any ocean or theme park. It was a race against time.
My kid is five and he’s really coming into his own. He
longs for friends his own age, yet still clings to Mommy and Daddy when the
room is dark. He can be feisty, stubborn, with a Kylo Ren-like ferocity and determination to get his way. But at other times he’s a lovable, sweet, boy full
of compassion, ready to protect a bug or a butterfly.
He’s bright. He’s thoughtful. He’s pretty much
everything in my life. Even when he’s upset with me. Even when he has to do
chores. Even when he has to brush his teeth. Even when he has to sit at the dinner
table. No matter what I always remember one thing. Time is short. He's growing up. The hugs will loosen and the chores and bedtimes and the tuck ins and stories will become something we remember instead of do. The race is on...
