Number 3 or Number 17

It's my tea drinking, University attending, baseball player son's birthday today.

He's my youngest, and my only son. 

A few days ago I wrote about my special First born daughter.  In the summer, I wrote about my second born, special, because of that.  Because there was a first born, and I was not as scared and nervous with the second, but equally excited.

 Today, I am writing about my special last born.  

This is the kid who turned my life upside down in many ways.  He was a calm, relaxed baby who I could take anywhere and he slept easily and didn't fuss much.
He started walking at 8 months old.  And that's when the trouble started.  He was born when we still owned and used records to listen to music.  One day he pulled a lot of them out of their sleeves and looked through the little hole in the middle.  He dumped them on the floor after a while, and proceeded down to the bathroom to pull off a whole roll of toilet paper.  Then, if all that exploration wasn't enough, he toddled over to one of my plants, dug into the dirt and dumped piles onto the floor.  Where was I, you ask?  I am not after him, cleaning up messes, pulling my hair out!!

This was also the same kid who broke several living room windows with his plastic hammer.  

And the kid who cinched himself up to the rafters of his Dad's shop, with a pulley, and hung out there....when he was four.

And the guy who poured oil into his Dad's shop vac, rendering it useless.


 He was also the kid, and now a young adult, with a kind and tender heart.  He has strong interests and is a deep and intelligent thinker.  He has the gift of perception and views people in a non-judgmental way.  He exercises courage everyday.  He is a beautiful and dedicated athlete.  He is the one who has taught (and is teaching) me to embrace differences in people, to accept people as they are, instead of trying to change them.

#17, the one at bat

Happy Birthday kiddo, I love you.

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