The future awaits my son. If I have done my job—and the verdict will be out for some time to come—he will work harder than everyone else, refuse to accept rejection and failure, which are unavoidable, try new foods and go new places, push himself far beyond his comfort zone, and tell those who deserve it to kiss his ass. I will always love and support him, and he will always have a soft landing place in my home, wherever it is.
And if, as I get older, I behave as certain members of our family did on graduation night, I give my son permission to leave the dinner table, to curse my name under his breath as he walks away, and to block my messages as he cranks his car.
I will not become my parents.
UNSALTED GEMS 