Six years ago today, the twin towers of the World Trade Center crashed and burned. As a nation, we are still trying to recover; and I have deep sympathy for us all.
However, this national tragedy isn’t what I remember most on this day. Rather, I remember that thirty-nine years ago today I was delivering my firstborn child, a son. We named him Kevin.
I’ve checked on Google® to see if there is any meaning to the name, and I’ve come away with information that suggests Kevin is of Gaelic origin. Being Irish, I assumed that at the get-go and gave my son an Irish first name because he clearly had an Italian last name — Carollo — compliments of his father.
I spent over an hour on the phone with Kevin this morning, talking politics and sex and, yes, birthday plans. And I was pleased with what he decided to do. In the past, birthday plans have not been particularly important to him, while they are of utmost importance to me. “Mom, I’m not teaching today,” he said. “I’m only doing things I want.” Which is exactly how I would spend my own special day.
So there’s a milestone here in more ways than one. Kevin is thirty-nine; for some, that’s a sad occasion. But he seems to be hitting his stride. He’s taking the day off; which I’ve advocated for years. I say birthdays are a time to respect oneself. And, finally, we both spent a moment discussing 9/11, which is as it should be. Happy birthday, Son.
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