I’m going to do my best to keep the melancholy in check with this post, but I won’t be able to avoid it.  Consider yourselves warned.  Our little guy turned thirteen today.

Thirteen.

I haven’t lived full time in a house with a teenager since I was a teenager.

Jacob is a great kid.  Smart.  Funny.  Athletic.  A wonderful big brother.  And I have to admit there are unexpected benefits of having him grow up on me.  For example, I’ve always been a big University of Kentucky basketball and football fan.  But I’ve struggled with being able to enjoy watching UK with anybody (Laura’s not a big sports fan).  Seems like everybody else I know is either a little too into the game, or not into it enough.

But now when it’s time for a big UK game, Jacob’s my guy.

I’m starting to realize that some of the wistfulness of having ones kids grow up is softened by the development of a new kind of relationship.  I used to not really like the thought of having a teenager, but now that I have one, I have to say I really like it.

Because of the one I’ve got.