Son

 This picture of my son is from when he was here for Spring Break. I like the way the wooden hearts in the vase behind him seem to be sprouting from his collar.

Our boy ran his first post-injury track meet this weekend and was pleased with his performance. Despite the vulnerable Achilles tendon, he posted a decent time in hurdles and placed fourth in high jump, which was good, he said, because he was seeded sixth. He sounded happier and much less stressed than he's been sounding recently. Track helps relieve his good-grades anxiety.

During a phone call he made to us a week ago to discuss dropping one of his six courses so he could focus on securing good grades in the other five, he seemed wound really tight. His dad was great on the phone with him: "Do whatever makes sense to you, son." "Did you talk it over with your adviser?" "Just do your best and don't worry too much. We know you're working hard." "Remember we have your back no matter what."

I was on the extension and didn't talk much, because my husband was working his magic. After we put down the phone, I looked up and said, "Oh my God, he's like me!"

"I know," my husband said. "Poor kid."