I love it.
Patrick does not love it.
Patrick finds the singing and angry orphan gestures ridiculous and infuriating. Every time Gus opens his mouth to sing for me, Patrick runs in front of him and tries to change the subject to golf. He says he wants to be a doctor and play a lot of golf when he grows up; he likes golf, he says, because “It’s relaxing.” My brother-in-law got him hooked on Putt-Putt at the beach, and when Pop-Pop took all the boys to the Five & Dime to pick out treats, Patrick got a brand new set of red and turquoise “Golf Sticks”, which he keeps by his bed at night when he’s not practicing his swing. Planning for the future. That's my boy.
Gus, meanwhile, is already trying to weasel his way out of going to college. “I’m just going to live with you guys,” he told me last week. “I don’t want to have to get married or get a job or anything like that …”
Every day they give me glimpses of where we’re going. Tiny flashes of what might be. I don’t want to box them in. I hold them to nothing. I'm just watching and waiting to see.