'on the razors edge you trail...'

This past Saturday, I was standing in the bathroom with my oldest son, who was nearly kissing his reflection in the mirror as he admired the loss of his lower left incisor. This boy, who's dancing in the shadow of his 11th birthday, is rapidly losing the last of that which keeps him a young child in my eyes. The departure of his last few baby teeth, I thought, was going to put me over the edge.

That was until I noticed he'd turned his attention away from his gaping smile and was brushing at something on his lip. I watched as he squinted his eyes and worked more intently at the nemesis under his nose. Unable to see what his goal was, I tapped the mirror until he glanced at me, and asked what the problem was.

"I have a mustache, Mom! Should we talk about when I can start shaving?" he responded, and I swear to you, it was as if his voice had dropped an octave for every one of his 10 years, and I wanted to call to my husband and have him address this matter, but I was afraid waking him would startle his elderly heart, or he'd break his hip trying to hobble up the stairs while yelling, "Moose trap? What's all this jibber jabber about a moose trap!?" while I screamed back, "No, Pa. Your son here said he has a MUSTACHE, not MOOSE TRAP! Get a damn batt'ry in that hearing aid, old man! Why, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that man don't but keep that thing turned down just to irritates me, dang nabbit..."

Instead, I looked at his boy - a boy, dammit! just a boy! - who thought the "penis and puberty" class he went through just a handful of weeks ago was mega super GGGGRRRROOOSSSS, and thought "Oh my God, like, I should be handing him a condom to tuck in his wallet 'just in case,' and telling him to be home by 1 a.m., because you know how Dad worries, and you know you can call us if you ever get in trouble. And don't do drugs, k? Because drugs are bad..."

On and on. By the time I realized he was trying to get my attention again, I had my son married to the nice, quiet girl he met after a successful post-graduate career and a dalliance into local politics, considered only after a knee injury eight years into a successful NBA career benched his efforts. When I was fully conscious again, I heard him say, "I think it was just some crumbs from my toast."

Which is good, because I think I'm really not ready for him to give up on this little boy thing yet.

Dang nabbit.