Proud Beyond Words

(This was started on Saturday, December 11, 2010. The events of the ensuing week prevented its completion.)

Today, my son became a man. It is Christopher's 18th birthday, which is a landmark in every young man's life. As I look forward to what he will become, I am filled with memories of who he is and who I have known him to be.

As much as I want this day to be special, our circumstances are convoluted. His grandfather was admitted to the hospital a few hours ago. His grandmother is in recovery from a fall a few weeks back. As I sit here writing this, he is en route with his sisters so they can participate in the Christmas Parade in Montgomery, TX. It may not seem like much. But I have to ask: how many older siblings can be trusted with the absolute care of the younger ones? Chris takes his two sisters to and from school every day. And he's always been like that. I'm writing this because I've noticed and I want him to know it is not taken lightly.

As am reflecting today, I also remember another of his birthdays, 13 years ago in fact. We celebrated that birthday just after getting Chris home from the hospital. He had been rushed to the hospital before Thanksgiving that year with pneumonia and, as we discovered later, pleurisy. He was possibly near death and in a terribly weakened state. It was his 3rd bout with pneumonia/bronchitis in his 5 years and just never seemed to get rid of it each time. He was the super trooper throughout the experience, though. He didn't complain, was calm and pleasant throughout the ordeal. It was his demeanor which likely contributed to the condition getting to such and advanced stage. We just didn't know how bad it all was until he got to the hospital. With the help of the state-of-the-art technology at the time and medication, "Mister Christer" made a full recovery and overcame the physical ailments that he had not been able to before. For all who know him now, it is obvious he made a full recovery.

Ever since Chris was born, I was ever proud of him. But, when he was sitting there on the elk skin rug on the floor of my sister's house, I wanted him to grow up so I could play with him. I wanted him to get big enough to do stuff with me. It didn't take Chris long at all. When he was big enough to wear a baseball glove, I tried to get him to play catch with me, but he never cared much for the game, though. He wasn't much for anybody throwing hard balls at him. He did get interested in soccer and I became his coach. We learned the sport together. After 2 seasons, he pretty much had enough. After all, soccer players are not necessarily big kids and Chris had become a big kid and he didn't care for all the running that was involved.

Jr High rolled around and Chris discovered tackle football. He knew I had played, as well as his namesake, his 1st cousin, Chris Smith. During the Christmas Holidays before he started the 7th Grade, he and "Big Chris" talked about playing football. It was during that college bowl season and the NFL Playoffs that he started watching games with me so he could understand it. As the school year and football season approached, we went to the high school practice fields to run wind sprints to start conditioning. Chris, ever being the good sport, didn't complain much. I guess it was better than doing it alone. For those who know him, he's never been the aggressive type and football didn't necessarily suit him. He's sort of the "Ferdinand The Bull" among other bulls. He ended up playing for 3 seasons. In 7th grade, he tackled a kid and broke his arm and soon was given the nick-name "Knox-em Out."  That nick-name followed him on into high school. During his Freshman year he hurt his back and endured the injury for several weeks before his mother and I sought medical attention effectively ended his season. I think it was that point where he began considering his future. Football would involve a lot of pain and Chris decided to look into his options.

During Jr High, Chris had taken interest in playing guitar, which is like saying Michelangelo picked up his first paintbrush. I gave him my Yamaha dreadnought acoustic guitar and he began playing it day and night. But, his musical abilities began to show long before he ever took interest in the instrument.

At the tender age of 3, his mother and I were youth pastors at a church in Kaufman, TX. One night, after church services were over, I was in my office and heard the sound of someone playing the drums from the auditorium. I didn't pay it any mind because usually any number of the teenagers in the church would go in there and play the drums when no one else was around. As I finished up in my office, I realized that I didn't know where Chris was and started looking around. It never occurred to me to check the auditorium. After checking everywhere else, I walked in to see my 3 year-old son teetering on the over-sized drum throne and drum kit. When he saw me, he smiled and stopped playing to say "Look, Daddy, I playin' da' drums!"

Now, my son is big enough to do things with. We've played in bands together, alternating between the two of us leading the band and playing guitar and bass. I truly enjoy getting to share the stage with him. He is so easy to play with and and he is a delight work with as a musician. I unequivocally can say that he is much more talented than I am musically and I can only imagine what he will become. It almost seems unfair now that when I am so thoroughly enjoying doing the things we do together that he is considering leaving home to go explore the opportunities that await him in the wide, wide world. But, I realize we have been preparing for this from the first time I saw him in the delivery room in Victoria, Texas 18 years ago.

I'm so thankful to God for giving us such a wonderful son. The truth is it has nothing to do with his incredible talents. He is an incredible human being. I give his mother credit for that. I'm just glad he has my last name. Love you, Chris!