Today, the Man-Cub turns eighteen.
I'll let that sink in for a minute.
He's old enough to vote. He has to register for the draft. He can legally decide for himself most of life's important decisions. Who the hell let this happen?
He's still my baby. He still relies on me to wash his socks (although, he knows how to do it; I'm not raising a caveman, here). I don't know that I'm ready to be the parent of another adult; this is a very challenging time for me.
What's that you say? It's not about me? You would be correct; it's about a young man with a winning smile, pleasing personality, intelligence that rivals most well-known geniuses of our time (I may be exaggerating a tad, here), a heart as big as Texas (Not exaggerating, I swear), and a sense of humor that keeps the people around him in stitches.
I am so, so proud of the adult that I am about to unleash on the world. I just can't believe it happened so fast.
Love you to pieces, Man-Cub.