I am jealous of my son.  

I wish his childhood was mine, or that mine were more like his.  

He is surrounded by family. He has a deeper relationship with his grandparents, and more time with them already, than I did in my whole life. He has met 3 great grandparents.  

He knows his aunts, uncles, aunties, Godparents, and great aunts & uncles. He even knows the family friends of his grandparents.  

He lives in a mixed-race community. His mom is home with him twice during the work week. God willing, he will have a sibling in a few months. He has an older dog-brother.

He has so much that I didn’t.

We spend so much time as men, at least my buddies and I do, thinking about being providers and feeling the pressure of that identity.  

And yet, even though we are MUCH wealthier than my parents were at his age. That has rarely crossed my mind.  

Perhaps jealous is the wrong word. Gratefully envious is perhaps better. But whatever that word is, thank God that I’m it.  

— 

On September 30, I will stop posting blog updates on Facebook. If you’d like email updates from me once a week with new posts, please leave me your address or pick up the RSS feed.