I saw my son on TV last night. It was one of those community affairs programs and he was speaking as a Board Member of a local charity. He looked good, dressed in one of his fancy banker suits, and his smile was as engaging on camera as it is in person. He sounded confident and at ease as he answered the moderator's questions and I listened proudly while he talked about the organization and how the community could offer support. But my eyes zeroed in on a tiny, almost invisible, line not far above his left eye - a souvenir from a collision with the coffee table when he was three.
Afterwards, I thought about it and realized I'd actually searched for that tiny scar. It look me a while to figure out why.
The successful banker/charity board member is someone I love very much, someone who lives in a world that I happily visit but have never lived in. This is the man my son grew into, the life he created for himself long after he left the nest. If I looked hard enough at the image on the screen, I could almost see the teenager he had been, but there was no sign of the little boy who once shared my world with me.
That little boy lives in my memories, he's there in a thousand photographs, but sometimes it's hard to find the boy inside the man. I think that tiny scar has become a touchstone for me, a constant that provides a link to days long ago.
So even while I watched the handsome man on TV, admiring his poise and taking pride in how well he spoke, I found that tiny scar...and saw my little boy.
So, how about you? What touchstones do you have in your life? What kinds of things provide you with a link to another time or place?
Oh, in case you're looking - you can't see the scar in this picture. It's just under his hair.
Groaner of the Day: A young boy had a job bagging groceries at a supermarket. One day the store manager had a machine installed for squeezing fresh orange juice.
The young lad was most intrigued by this machine, and he asked if he would be allowed to run it, to make the juice. The manager refused, and the boy demanded to know why.
"Sorry, kid," the manager explained, "but baggers can't be juicers."
