When our oldest son, Phil, was in junior high school, a man showed up on our porch late one wintry night, wanting to sell his collection of poetry. The price? Three bucks. I said no because there is a deep deep part of my soul that hates to be scammed.
Phil observed the (non) transaction. After the man left, he said what's the big deal, Mom? It's only three bucks. And then he went looking for the guy, although I don't think he ever found him.
I've thought a lot about this moment over the years, realizing that (once again) Phil has often been my teacher on many, many fronts. That happens with all children, but particularly with the firstborn. You learn from everything the two of you--child and inexperienced parent--experience together.
I am especially grateful for my wildly creative, intelligent, resilient, loyal, and kind-hearted boy who entered our lives on this day when I was a graduate student teaching classes at BYU. Happy Birthday, Phil. Thanks for the ride. Thanks for the love.