You gifted me:
finally I could say
"You are my blood and bone,
my sinew and flesh."
I had never before looked at another human
and seen my own face.

When it became clear to us
that parenting you meant breaking all the rules,
we threw out all the books,
stopped listening to the experts,
and raised you by instinct.

We risked making mistakes so that
we could also do some things right.
I never regretted that choice.

Last night you gifted me again,
on the eve of your eighteenth birthday.
You let me look you in the eyes and say,
"I'm proud of you. I love who you are."
And you let me have
our silly childhood ritual
one more time.

Happy Birthday, son. I love you.