frabjoustoo: Boy turns 29

Today my dear son, Luke, turns twenty-nine!

The swift passage of time always surprises us, which is daft as it is the one given we can really be sure of.

A creak on the evening of 23rd October 1985 was the first warning. Nothing dramatic. But three hours later we had a son called Luke. I stared into his eyes for hours, wondering who this creature was. The paediatrician (dear Dr Levin) checked him over and said, "He's a fine specimen. He should bring you nothing but joy all his days." Bless him. He was right.

A very smiley, happy little chap, he survived the mothering of his appointed mother and his two (self-appointed) sister-mothers quite well, I think.

Always moving, laughing, loving life, he whizzed through childhood. His only early specification was "no broken toys". A "broken" toy would throw him into a fit of wails, and "broken" was a strictly relative term. A scratch or sign that it was well used (shame, and he was the last of three) meant it was rejected. Oh, and the foods on the plate had to be separate - really separate, not a pea scooting across to cling to the mash, or it would be cause for complaint.

Puppy Jessie arrived just after his ninth birthday. It was love at first sight.

Let rip!

I wish I had taken more time to be with him, play with him, but he was more an action kind of guy, stopping only to get re-fueled or sleep.

We could not have been more surprised when he chose Art as a school subject. This was the boy who had to have occupational therapy because the Grade One teacher complained that he had coloured an entire picture in purple, without regard to the figures and other features on the page. I told her he did not have trouble discerning the boundaries, knew what colour people should be and so on, but was merely bored and hated colouring, but hey, she was the professional.

A natural sportman, he dabbled in almost every sport at school, annoyingly able to swim, play hockey, cricket, tennis, and so on all equally well. Early music lessons did not "stick", due to a less-than-satisfactory first teacher. (If only first impressions weren't so important!)

One of the best decisions we ever made (thanks to wise and persuasive friends) was to intervene during his lack-lustre high school years and send him to Somerset College. Almost overnight we had a new boy, eager to get involved and enjoying life once again. (Really great - but expensive - school, by the way!)

I was relieved when a year of hard labour at minimum wage in London did not include losing his heart to a foreign lass. (I've lost two children already to the soggy isle.) And it's been thrilling to see him find his niche as a talented graphic designer, with hard work and passion now starting to pay off, and to have a really contented man doing what he loves (and even earning a living from it). (Check out his website: www.lukeritchie.co.za.)

Mostly though, and above all, I so value and appreciate who he has become - a sensitive, kind, God-fearing and caring person. Who could ask for more?

We recently shared a trip to the UK and spent three days "doing London", whizzing through galleries, navigating bus routes, comparing notes and impressions. The only arguments we had were about what to do next.