I just can't take it sometimes!
Five to six, eight to nine, ten to eleven. Such a change. Each year producing almost a new creature. Years are leaps at these ages. Not the small steps I take now.
Does anyone care that I was smack dab in the middle of Peter Pan when I got my scan results last month? I haven't had the courage to pick it up, because I know what happens and I know what was happening while he was writing it. He was watching boys grow up.
There is this part in the movie Finding Neverland (it is about James Barrie and how Peter Pan came about, not sure how accurate it is but...) where the oldest boy George is talking seriously to James about his mother's serious illness. James says, "Magnificent. The boy is gone. In the last 30 seconds...you became a grown-up." I see that same look as George in my James' eyes when we talk about Heavy Things. I was first diagnosed with cancer when he was 6. He would plug his ears whenever it was brought up in conversation. But now he takes it...almost like a man.
Sometimes I think I can stop this great change, but there is nothing strong enough to hold it back. I'm just glad I get to see it all unfold. The coming of age right before my eyes. It is fantastic.
I'm thinking if Barrie and Milne can capture boyhood so beautifully, maybe it never really leaves them. They might always be, at heart, that treasure-seeking, blood-thirsty, stick-throwing, rock-collecting boy.
I like to think so.
James still puts his fantasy books down every now and then at bedtime, and pops his head in to listen to our childish stories. Tonight was one of those nights. I wonder if he remembers laughing at just the same parts his brothers are now giggling at.
I feel so happy when I think that we have spent many of our afternoons playing Poohsticks in the river and skipping rocks. Because this is only an option for so long. Eventually those little boys step out of the Wood.