Are you watching the TV premieres in your spare time? I haven't seen many, but I am trying to catch your show. Final season, you know.
My son, Riley, watched with me yesterday. It was about the Columbian woman, the political candidate who was kidnapped and held captive by rebels for more than six years. Her children had become adults while she was away. She no longer recognized her son's voice.
That statement burned. No risk of being captured by rebels here, but I know the pain of not recognizing your own child. It is how I sometimes feel about Riley. In my mind's eye, he is a boy. This boy.
Some days it's the voice or the facial hair. Other days it's the muscles or the size 13 shoes. But it feels strange. Like it's someone I should know, but am not sure I have ever met.
So please, warn me when you're about to break my heart. Puberty, menopause and the end of your show might be more than I can manage.