A Study of Oliver

A poem dedicated to the author's eldest son.

I see you, son.

I see you standing on that brink

Between boyhood and manhood.

I see you wear your vanilla blond hair

In a man’s cut now, and carefully gel it over, just right.

No more little boy bowl cuts for you.

I see a gaining understanding in your pool-blue eyes.

But your cheek still has the soft curve of a child’s.

I see your jack o lantern mouth of teeth, not yet suited to your face.

I see the braces, the hallmark of adolescence.

I see your hands, telegraphing how big of man you stand to become- And I see the scribbled handwriting become smaller, but no more legible.

I see your shoes, another sign that you will be a tall and strapping figure, Lined neatly in the hall.

I see you.

I see your perfect, unmarked and unfathomably white skin.

You have no facial hair yet. You will likely not have much. Our people don’t.

I see your skinny shoulder blades and collarbones and know you have not yet filled out- but I can see how you will.

I hear your voice become deeper, your childhood speech impediments fading, your vocabulary growing, your understanding increasing.

I see you.

I see the books scattered around your bedroom grow thicker.

No more pictures.

I see your artwork become more detailed.

You color within the lines now.

I see you.

I see you fling your red jacket over your shoulder, so cool- And I see your favorite soft toy tucked up under your arm- a solider not ready to abandon its captain- and you, a captain not leaving a man behind.

I see you.

I see you sitting on the floor with your sister, Letting her stick bows in your hair.

I see you will be a good father.

I see you toss a card that would win you a game under the table So your brother can win just one hand- And I see you have a great sense of compassion.

I see you greet an older woman with your hand out, saying How do you do?

I see you sliding a dollar bill across a counter to the man who just gave you a garnished sprite and saying This is for you, my good man.

I see your natural charm that will carry you far I see you.

I see you run out to meet me when I come home, to carry in groceries and bags.

I see you taking a basket of laundry downstairs for me Let me carry that, mom.

I see you.

I see you stepping between two boys in an argument.

I see you stepping between a bully, bigger than you- and your brother.

I watch you not hit him. I watch you diffuse the situation with words, and never have to raise your fist.

I see you.

And I’m proud.