18

Today, my firstborn and only son, you turn 18 years old. You have pretty much made a life of beating the odds--so nothing really surprises me anymore. You've been proving doctors (and lots of other people) wrong your whole life. If someone said you couldn't, or shouldn't, or wouldn't...you have. As simple as that, you make your own rules. Always. And I love that. I've been criticized over the years for my parenting of you, especially when you were little. Maybe criticism is too strong a word, but at least "questioned". Here's the thing, boy of mine--parenting you is sort of like, well, coaching Manu Ginobili. As I was reflecting on this day, that analogy came to mind. I thought it was from a Gregg Popovich interview, but alas, these words are from one of your number one earthly heroes, Timmy D.

 “He puts his head down and he goes,and we pray for the best.” - Tim Duncan (referring to his teammate and friend, Ginobili)

Sometimes I almost have to close my eyes when you take off on one of your ideas or goals. It isn't that I don't have faith in you, but this world...oh, this world. I love you for respecting my protective instincts. As I tried to tell you recently when we were in the midst of a huge (for us) struggle, it's HARD. You'll see, someday. 

 A week from tomorrow you will start your last year of high school and embark on the next part of your journey. I suspect that we will continue to learn from you in the coming years--you are constantly teaching me about love, and life, and parenting, and the latest with Johnny Football. That won't change just because you are now old enough to vote and do all sorts of other things--I suspect I will learn as much or more from Conner the Man as I have from My Little Boy. Live fully, love fiercely, choose wisely, and study hard (especially when you get to A&M because, let me tell you, freshman chemistry is NO laughing matter). Don't be in a hurry this next year. I'm sure not. 

Happy Birthday. You are a joy, an inspiration, and an amazing son. 

Love, Mom