That's him, second from left, after playing a few songs inside the gates of Busch stadium, as part of a contest. They should have won. My boy loves the St. Louis Cardinals, and I think he loves his life. At least, he behaves as though he loves his life. Heavenly Father knew that I could only handle one child and that it needed to be a boy. I cherish this boy more than any other person on earth. The day he got married, my Facebook status read, "The love of my life is marrying someone else, and I'm happy!"
In order to graduate high school, he needed to retake American History. It wasn't because he didn't learn anything in the class, but because he didn't see the need for homework. In his logical mind, passing tests should have been proof enough that he had sufficiently learned what he needed to learn to pass the course, but the teacher didn't look at it that way. We had a few discussions about him needing to comply with the request to do homework, but they all ended with me kind of throwing my hands in the air, because I couldn't argue with the logic he presented. Finally, I decided to write him a letter, since I say things so much better when I write them. In the letter, I asked him if he would just do the homework because I wanted him to, and for no other reason. As a result, he agreed to do the homework, but that's not the best part of the story. The best part happened months later, when I was looking in his wallet for something he had told me was there. While looking, I found the letter I had written to him, neatly folded and tucked away, there in his wallet. It just brought tears to my eyes.
There is one last thing I would like to share with you. In these photos to the left, he is wearing a suit custom made for him by my mother, "Grammy". Mother does a lot of writing and seems to enjoy it. I think she may have contributed a lot to my own love of writing. Anyway, I have reproduced below a piece she wrote, after Nate (back when she called him Nathan) had spent a day or two with her. I think this expresses, more than anything else I have ever read or heard, what a wonderful man my boy became and how important it is for parents and grandparents to really pay attention to their children. As a prologue, I feel it necessary to say that I divorced Nate's dad, when Nate was three, and I was awarded full custody of him. Whenever he got sick, I couldn't drop him at daycare, so my mother would take him, so I would't have to miss work. That was a great help to me. Also, Nate had allergy-induced asthma throughout his childhood and was hospitalized several times, just to get it under control. My mother was one of the few family members who understood the severity of Nate's asthma. So, Happy 31st Birthday to my wonderful son, the love of my life. I close with my mother's words:
7-18-92
A SPECIAL TIME FOR NATHAN
(written by Marcella Simmons)
It is great to have two of my children living with their families near me in the St. Louis area. I am so blessed with well-behaved and beautiful grandchildren. One of them stands apart from the others; not that he is better, or smarter, or loved more, but that he is my only grandson.
During his early years, I cared for Nathan on many occasions. When he was sick - whether it was a runny nose or worse with fever, or violent asthma attacks, a trip to the doctor, or even the chicken pox - I was ready to assist. Today, however, I am basking in the beauty of the past two days when I have enjoyed his company at my request. There was no adjusting schedules to fit him in, no rushing early morning trip to get him before his mother went to work, no dropping everything and picking him up at school - not that I minded any of these things - but this was a planned visit just for the two of us.
Nathan chose the room in which he would sleep, he chose the menus from suggested foods available; he chose to do what he wanted to do; and we worked out our own schedule together just for us. The only things we didn't schedule were the asthma attacks.
When we went to the pool, we were fortunate to choose a day when some other children whom I knew, and whose parents knew Nathan, were there also. We shared our lunches together and even stayed longer than we had planned just to have fun with them. When we did leave, it was because of asthma. The next day, at the opening of the new movie, "Honey, I Blew Up the Kid," we began to think we might have to forget it all because of the asthma. We made it with the help of the inhaler. Last night, we christened the new picnic table in the backyard. That was fun, too. We rolled the TV outside and watched as the Cincinnati Reds beat the Cardinals. We hadn't planned for that to happen, either.
Today, I am picking up paper airplanes from several spots throughout the house. He had just recently learned to make them and found plenty of scrap paper in his table downstairs to use in his construction. As I pick them up, I am remembering the special little nine-year-old who had such enjoyment making and flying them, some even flown outside and down the hill. I remember the fireflies that we caught after dark. This was not the time of year to find the frogs we usually find. I think of the sensitive young man that he is: concerned about the foul language at his summer camp and at his school; happy that his dad no longer smokes, because he had asked him to give it up; and concerned about his dad's spiritual life. "He doesn't like church," Nathan said.
But the specialty of all specialties was that, without question or coercion, he said to me more than once, "Grammy, I love you." Who would dare to tell me that he is not a special young man?
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Thanks for reading,
Teah
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