Eighteen years ago a little boy came into this world. He was small, blonde and so tiny. When I met him a few days after his birth he snuggled into my chest and fell asleep. I fell in love.
A few months later his parents, whom I had only known for 18 months or so, somehow made the decision to ask me to be his godmother. It helped that I was dating their best friend, who would become his godfather. I have no idea how they knew I would stick around to be a godmother to this little human being. I was only 20 years old for Pete's sake!
Today that tiny baby is EIGHTEEN! And he will soon become an Eagle Scout. He is emblematic of the 9/11 generation. His world was shattered that day as a 6-year-old boy. His family has a strong traditional of serving in the military. His parents are conservative and elections are often touchy times for us, but we get through them. I still remember walking into his room when he was maybe 8 and seeing it decked out in stars and stripes AND a huge photo of George W. Bush. A total Alex P. Keaton moment. I guard his privacy well, so I won't tell too much more of his story. Rather, I point this out as indication of how different we are in so many ways, but I could not love him more if I had given birth to him myself. I was not prepared for how emotional I am feeling today!
Somehow his parents' leap of faith worked out. We're all still best of friends, I married his godfather and while my heart breaks to think of my godson off in the military next year, that's where his dreams will take him. He is goofy, dreams of being a pilot, is a typical big brother (both helpful & annoying), helps his parents as much as he can, is smart as a whip and adores Ella as if she was his sister.
Happy Birthday, Tadpole.