The Boo turns 2

It was a typical family event last Friday night--both sides of relatives gathered under one roof to celebrate with Sponge Bob cake, balloons, noisemakers, and hats (no, Irish would not wear one). Kids were all over the place, or so it seemed. Baby had a bad cold and The Boo was just getting over his tonsillitis. The 3 1/2 year-old cousin couldn't speak English, but was adept at making his wants known. The other grandmother made killer taquitos while I, knowing my place, kept clear of the kitchen so she could perform her magic there. The older girl cousins were on hand along with various tias (aunties), Pa and Nonna (Irish and me), and of course Daddy Christian and Mama Alina. The new toys were a big hit, as was the DVD of "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything"--little Christian is a huge Veggie Tales fan.

And of course, I couldn't stop thinking of my own boy at that age, 30 years ago. It really is true that, as we age, the past becomes ever more alive and present. Little guys on the cusp between babyhood and boyhood have that same irresistible, impatient wistfulness about them, regardless of generation. I saw it on my brothers many years ago; then on my son, and now on my grandson. I know that his brother will have that same look on his face a year from April 4 when he himself arrives at this gate. All my brothers became wonderful men, after some shaky journeys along the way. So did our Jeremy. What is ahead for young Christian and his baby brother, who bears his late uncle's name, remains to be seen. But this I know: the promise of a little boy who is loved and anxious to get on with the business of growing into a man is a marvelous thing.