Woke up to an email with a picture from my 8 year old son this morning.
No preamble. No signoff. Just a one-liner below (“too busy lah, Ma” – I can just imagine him saying 😬):
“That was me last week when i got my ten in my weeklys.”
(That’s the second week the weeklys started getting counted. “In the first week I got an 8, because nobody is allowed to get a 10 in the first week.” 😳 quote unquote.)
If you have been watching Conrad since his birth through my writings you will understand that this boy came into the world with his inner fire somehow already lit.
I have had my mothering work cut out for me in all the inbetween times that I *don’t* post, to tame and guide that fire, for the many times when his passion and impetuousness and needling and bossiness, and little moments of ignoring and meanness (we all have them), veer towards a negative impact on the people and world around him.
But that fire? This drive, this will, this unquenchable desire to do his best that comes only from the inexplicable need to do justice to the siren call of his own latent inner stuff, this fierce primal joy in living and throwing himself into the fray, weaving his own life into the countless narratives around him, whether child or adult –
This is Conrad to the core. And being his mother has already taught me more than I am fully aware of, in the 8 years I’ve been privileged to play that role.