Little Boys

I woke up this morning thinking wistfully about little boys.

Once upon a time, little boys determined the course of my every waking hour (and disturbed many of the sleeping ones).  Now, those busy little boys are amazing grown men with only remnants of boyishness in the ways they walk in the world. Gone forever, I suppose, are the smelly basketball shoes on the stairs, the hand-drawn grandiose visions of superhero costumes on the fridge, the tangle of video game controllers in the middle of the living room floor.  No one is learning to play the guitar upstairs anymore, or figuring out how to talk to a girl in the front yard, or agonizing over algebra at the kitchen table.  I never mop up popsicle drips in the doorway or scrape dried cheese from the dining room chairs or cry over melted crayons in the dryer. I have not kissed an "owie" or walked hand-in-hand into a school or carried my little boys in more years than I can remember. 

But I still hug those boys whenever I can.  I poke around in their lives with annoying questions and subtle suggestions and goofy-mom-opinions by text and email and facebook. I bribe them into my presence with food and beer and an occasional load of laundry.  I celebrate their brilliant successes, their hard earned life-lessons, their relationships, their being... 

And their birthdays. 

Today is the birthday of one of the boys who made life crazy fun around here for many years.  He is the reason for my wistfulness.  I woke up wanting to log onto his facebook page and post an old photo from his childhood.  I have wanted to call his parents and marvel over the lightning speed at which birthdays have come and gone.  I so want to be smiling and knowing that my own  son is enjoying the celebration of his childhood friend's 30th birthday.

But Bobby McAlister died tragically, unexpectedly, unbelievably...5 years ago. 

Bobby would have been 30 today.  He was 10 in the Halloween photo above.  He's the "scary" looking hockey player in the middle...
The fun-master. 
The imagination-sparker. 
The Bob-man. 

Oh, how I long to know that boy at 30.

Happy Birthday, Bobby.