Today I filled out a form for my son.
As I wrote the seven letters in, in neat block print, my mind whisked me back to a sunny day in a California pediatrician's office. There I sat, filling out paperwork. My young son was only 18 months old, our family had just been transplanted from Dallas to San Francisco and we were taking another step toward settling in.
I can see his face. He big blue eyes, the sweet sensitive mouth, the reddish brown hair and smattering of freckles along his nose. He played quietly with a toy car, running it back and forth on the tightly upholstered chair, a small 'vroom-vroom' accompanying the car's forward and backward progress. My mom often said her oldest grandson had the 'quietest motor' she had ever heard. That still makes me smile, because it describes him well.
I can remember writing his name on so many forms over the years: babysitting co-ops, doctors' paperwork, insurance submissions. When he was first born I splurged on a cut wooden puzzle plaque that had each of his letter in a different primary color. That still sits on the shelf of my 15 1/2 year old son's bookshelf. The bookshelf is part of an Ethan Allen set that once stood in my husband's childhood room in Long Island. His named is also very likely carved in the wood somewhere, too.
That name. Those letters. I wondered when we chose the name of our first child if I would ever regret the decision or tire of the name. I never have and they still ring as music to my ears. I recently found a journal iI kept during my pregnancy. In it, I had listed out all the names in consideration for our first born, just trying them out:
Ethan
Drew
Matthew
Alex
Zack
Michael
Nathaniel...
None seemed right. Though all very good names, they just didn't click. But when I hit upon his name, I knew it was right. It was only later that I read in the scriptures that he shared his name with the first martyr of the Church, who had the 'face of an angel'. The face of an angel, that was a good choice. I felt a pang of worry about the martyr part. But, I think all us mothers have that pang now and then.
At 15 1/2 years old getting up in the morning is a real challenge. He is growing in gulps and I march him up against the doorjamb in the laundry room every couple of months to mark his height. He just hit his Dad's mark, and is destined to go past 6 feet tall, according to his orthodontist. So, food and sleep are being consumed by the bushel and often I don't have the heart to force him up and out of that bed too early.
Often when I go up to see if there is any movement under the piles of covers, when the morning sun has shown in force, I will take a minute to look at that face. I am almost always surprised to see how much it looks like it did at age 2. In that quiet state. There are signs of coming adulthood, yes, but asleep like that, it is just like 1992 all over again. Then I look up and see the colorful plaque smiling down at me. I have never tired of the letters in that name.
So, today I filled out this new government form. It is the first step in getting his learner's permit to drive. That young face, too young for me to imagine driving. But the days have passed. He has grown as he is supposed to do. He is not chomping at the bit to drive, but I have asked him now and then if he would like to pursue it. One day, last week, the answer was yes.
A friend once told me as we were looking at her niece's baby pictures that people never really change. The look just as they did as babies, just older. That may not sound incredibly sage, , but I have come to think there is more to it than meets the words. The certain look in an eye, the turn of the head or an expression a child gives you at age 2 never leave them. They will have that same essence at 15 or 38 or 87.
So it has been with my son. The sensitive mouth is still there. The big blue eyes still watching the world. At 15, as at 2, he watches before acting, thinks before jumping, creates and imagines and makes sense of his world from his unique vantage. Then he played with cars and toy animals, now he explores with computer, writing, thinking and tools and toys of a teen.
I know how he will drive-with the same carefulness, caution, wisdom and probably a very quiet motor.
