Today is my older son's birthday.
Angus is 20, an unimaginably grown-up and impossibly young age.
He is a tall, strong and good person who is given to keeping his own counsel and occasionally biting his fingernails.
I love him.
I married late, so now the chasm between our ages yawns. I am 72. He is 20. Wowsers!
And tomorrow is his mother's birthday.
As the 'adult,' I keep a serene exterior as if I knew what the hell were going on ... time passes, flowers grow, the way of the world ... that sort of thing.
But within there is a bubbling confusion:
Twenty years old... how the fuck did that happen!?
How I wish I could have done better.
.
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