I feel like I should give him some degree of identity protection, so henceforth, I will refer to the boy as “Mortimer”.

Mortimer is 8. He enjoys Minecraft, and talking about Minecraft, and watching youTube videos of other people playing Minecraft.

At the moment, he is in the middle of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, wants to be a scientist when he grows up, and can memorize information as soon as he reads it. Objectively, and without a mother’s bias,  he is a damn genius. However, none of that will do him any good if he doesn’t learn that the same rules that apply to everyone else on the planet (brush your teeth, look both ways before you cross the street, don’t argue with your teachers) also apply to him.

He will not follow any instructions unless he understands the reason behind them.

He will not perform any household chore without being asked  at least 3 times.

He will not remember to bring his lunchbox home, or what his homework was, or what day he needs to return his library books.

But he’s kind and funny and bright and unflinchingly honest. He’s patient with his little sister, appreciative of his mother and father, and his imagination knows no bounds.

I worry about the child, but I also rather admire him.

He was my firstborn. He was my miracle, and he is my treasure. He is the Golden Child, who was sent to tell us terrible jokes and teach us patience and probably cure cancer.