🎶HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR DAMIEN...🎶

"Happiness is when you realize your kids turned out to be genuinely good people." ~ Anonymous

Today is my son’s birthday. He is my only “child.” He lives in California. I am in Michigan. We don’t see each other often anymore. Not like the days of childhood with the every day trundling here and there - school, pmfriends, the mall. Not like the days of trying to get “new math” so I can help explain it, and science projects where mold grows in the refrigerator on purpose and fruit flies do their fruit fly thing while I pray silently every day they don’t all just up and die.

Damien usually visits here over Christmas, but this year he surprised me with an extra visit over Labor Day. It was a quiet visit without the extra buzz that Christmas brings. Perhaps that’s why I really noticed more than ever before what a truly kind, respectful, and thoughtful person my son grew up to be. He is sensitive and responsible. He has survived heartbreak and stress and success - whatever life has thrown his way. He is a genuinely good person and that makes me happy and proud. Today’s poem is a bit about that and it is dedicated to him. Happy Birthday, Damien.

EASTER EGGS IN LIFE

I carry a child in my heart
and in my memories of
Band-Aid covered dimpled knees
and squeals of glee and great
surprise when an Easter egg
of purple hue is seen, peeking
out from beneath a leaf, and
grasped by a tiny egg-sized hand.

I carry a child in my heart
and in my memories of
a mohawk haircut
of purple hue flying down a hellish
hill on rollerblades without a
helmet, kneepads, or a hint of fear
even as he flew through the air to
face-plant on the curb.

I carry a child in my heart
and in my memories of a
white Honda Civic tricked out
with rims and an underglow
of purple hue, blaring Dr. Dre, Jay Z
and Tupac - bass notes so
loud they shook the air - and
speeding tickets sprouting from
the very asphalt on which he drove.

In my heart, I carry a child
in all memories of my son, Damien, who
now, with childhood decades past, is a man
strong enough to make his own way in the world,
to survive the heartaches and disappointments,
yet sensitive enough to still be filled with wonder
at the little things so easily lost in the grind of life -
the sparkle of raindrops on a windowpane,
the symmetry of a rainbow -
perfect concentric arcs of color -
vibrant red through purple hue,
and the roar and splash of a wave crashing
exploding on the shore -
all the bright “Easter eggs” hidden in
the dark leaves of life.