I watch my children.

I study them.

Like it’s my job.  Because, I think it is.

For the past few years I’ve noticed a trait in my oldest son.

Possibly it’s hereditary.

Or circumstantial.

Or both.

I’m not sure that it matters which.

I just know, I’ve seen it on my boy.

I have seen it on him like you would see a heavy cloak – or a bathrobe – or if he decided to play dress up in a grown man’s oversized dress shirt.

Fear.  

It’s dangly and uncomfortable and it doesn’t really fit his form.  It’s hindering him at every single step and he is certainly going to stumble and stub his toe and cut his knees if he doesn’t discard that old thing and wear something that fits him better.

It’s shaping his actions and molding his heart and if I could – I would literally tear it from his body – and the Lord knows I have actually tried to do just that but it’s not coming off in my hands by my tugging and twisting.

And that fear has followed him and trekked along behind him and in front of him for a good long while now.

But I am, of recent months, seeing such change and hope in this boy of my heart.

This morning, while he was volunteering at Carl Sandburg’s house, (Tell me again why I cannot live in that home?  I promise to take exceptional care of it.) I watched him politely interact with strangers, answering questions about the newborn twin goats.  Later, while nearing our car, an older guest to the farm and a stranger to us, joked with him, “Son, I saw you playing with some mud – what do you want to do that for?”

The old Bergen would have looked at me, looked at the ground, and perhaps made noise but would have never spoken real words out loud.

But today, the Hawkeye grinned.  Looked at the stranger in the eyes and said, “I like mud – I think it feels great.”

It’s been a such a gift to watch this boy begin to shed his old garments.

To watch his confidence begin to grow as he weekly volunteers at the goat farm and as he weekly attends Trail Life and as he grows accustomed to being more and more comfortable in his own skin, aware of his own sense of humor and beginning to see what he brings to a conversation and to a situation.

He’s growing quicker to apologize to me, quicker to take the trash down the driveway without complaint.  Quicker to make a joke with a new friend we are just meeting or guests we have over for dinner.

I guess he’s kind of growing up.

(He still avoids showers and math and folding laundry.)

But I like what I’m seeing.  And I’m ecstatic to see him shedding the old skin of fear more often than not.

Grow strong, son.  Be brave, my boy.

I’ll just be over here watching and cheering you on.

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