For the past two weeks, I’ve tricked the boy into helping out at the Parish Fish Fry, by telling him I had signed him up to work as a door greeter. In truth, I have yet to go to the website and formally lock him into that position. “Bay remember we talked about this…” I said to him. “I thought it was only for the first week…?” He asked, a little wind blowing out of his sails that his weekend would have to wait until after this work shift. “No, I signed you up for several of them I mean, honestly, this is the easiest way for you to earn service hours…” I lied. Beyond questioning me that one time, he has shown up for duty without complaint. Why? Because he genuinely enjoys talking to people of all ages.
This Sunday night at 8:01 pm, he’ll officially become 17 years old and will be legal to see R-rated movies, without my permission. My little boy, who’s not so little any longer, will be one year away from registering for the draft, having the ability to vote in general elections and will be considered by everyone (save his parents) as an adult. As such, I am finding it very difficult to wrap my head around this concept and thus been unable to formulate a blog that doesn’t reduce down to sentimental drivel. So, I’m posting a link to my favorite story about the boy, written three weeks after I began this blog. I hope you take the time and read about my bay, who’s personality really hasn’t changed all that much over the last six years.