He's 16.

My baby turned 16 years old yesterday. Why didn't I write about it yesterday? I don't know. I was sitting here in "his" spot this morning and the thought hit me hard. I heard all the jokes about "get off the roads because he'll be driving," and "sweet 16 and never been kissed." But for some reason, this is serious.
It means I don't have that many more days with him at home. It means the little boy I held in my arms is growing into an adult. It means my influence is slowing diminishing.
The day was very cold and snowy/icy in Searcy, Arkansas 16 years ago. My wife was already in delivery, I was told to put on the scrubs and wait. They came and got me and it seems I was only there for a few minutes (Martha had a c-section) and they said, "C'mon, Dad! You're going with us." Dr. Stinnett looked at him. Basically, he was okay. A little skin problem. A little jaundiced.
What a fun kid he's been. He was pleasant, obedient (until lately, those wonderful teen years, he's still pretty good), and funny. He could zing his older sister and she would never knew what hit her. He was a good athlete, yet he never took it too seriously. He has been fun to watch grow up. It's just happened a little too fast to suit me. . .just like his sister.
But 16 years later, he still has a little skin problem. But now he's dealing with other problems. Problems with the opposite gender. Problems with teachers. Problems with his unreasonable parents. And I love him. So today, even though we celebrated yesterday, I salute my 16 year old son. He's a good boy. I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of man he will be. Have a great day. And hug your kids, not matter what age. JW