Today is Patrick John's last day of kindergarten. I went to see our big guy at school today (and bring the teachers' gifts I forgot to send in the first place) and while I marveled at the half-grown, friendly, cheerful little guy on the monkey bars (who even let me hug and kiss him in front of his friends), one of his teachers struck up a conversation with me. As she spoke, my pride for Patrick continued to grow.
"Patrick always listens the first time."
"Patrick always does the right thing."
"Patrick is always happy to be here."
"Patrick's laugh. The big laugh. Do you know what I'm talking about?" (Do I ever.)
"If I ever had a little boy, I would dress him just like Patrick."
And there was this kid, the one with the big attitude who butts heads with me daily and who allllllwwwaaays think he's right, the one I worried about having home full-time again and the fighting that is sure to ensue, the one whose behavior I question...that one, he's a good kid. When I'm not there to remind him, he's a good kid.
Either because of us or in spite of us, something has gone right in that handsome little freckled boy.
I'm just so proud. So proud.
(And maybe still just a little worried about the fighting this summer. These boys. They fight.)
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