Christopher has always been a "boy's boy". He loves what his daddy loves, which would be touching if it didn't make him smarter than me. He loves tractors and trucks, and when compelled, can tell you the difference between a combine and a tractor, or the difference between a cow and a steer. Most children his age don't know the difference of either of those scenarios, but he's got farming blood running through his veins.
From the time he was born, my husband was "grooming" him for the farming life, and a part of me died. I've loved music all my life: I sang with a professional choir for nine years and with it, traveled to eight different countries. I have the radio on more than the TV, and we entertain ourselves by dancing around the kitchen as I cook or clean. I had precious moments with him as an infant, dancing with him in the living room and humming in his ear because it was the only thing to settle the middle-of-the-night crying. And yet, as he grows older, he's leaning more toward dad's side.
When he has a choice now, he would prefer to leave my side and go with daddy to the barn. That's where the trouble starts, and that's where I come in to clean him up. He's usually covered in mud. At least, I hope it's mud. As much mischief as he gets into, I wouldn't be surprised if he came in covered in cow poo. Or, if his dad has things to work on, he'll strap on his toy tool belt and follow daddy down to the shop to "help" work on machinery or a random car or two.
In a way, I mourn. I had always hoped my son would excel in the arts, but alas, I doubt it will ever be. But I hope that my son knows he's loved every second of every day by both of us, regardless of what he does or says. I know there will come a time when he will decide what is best for him, and I encourage him no matter what his choices are. But deep down, I know that more than likely, he'll live and die on daddy's farm, just like daddy, and in the meantime, he'll play in the (what I hope is) mud.
No comments:
Post a Comment