I looked down at him. The warm, soft bundle in my arms. The second addition to my own little family.
He looked up at me. Eyes, ears, lips, nose. Features of a face that were forming resemblance to his mother. Or his father. Who does he look like most?
The most often made comment form acquaintances seeing him for the first time is, “He looks just like…”, but the last word is anybody’s guess.
That’s what I’m pondering as I look at him now. I can see the best of his mother in him. And I see some attributes that I’m glad to say are mine. But who he most resembles- I can’t decide.
Behaviors are there too. Mannerisms that look like me. Attitudes that remind me of his… well, of me too. At his Granny’s house, he has Johnson fits. At his Grah’s house, it’s a Gaugh fit. Funny; everyone wants to claim the cuteness, but nobody wants to own ugly.
But looking at him, and knowing that I have a direct influence on his outcome physically and behaviorally, mentally and spiritually, I know that it all goes back much father than his short life and my short history with him. The greatest outcomes and the most formidable obstacles were set long, long ago.
No matter where we come from, or who our parents are, in the end, we are all Adam’s sons.