Today is Son #2's birthday.
His name is Mike, he is an engineer, he's a wicked poker player and a great volleyball player.
Twenty eight years ago, I had no idea who or what he would be. He was a tiny bundle of preciousness, a gift of grace from God, born early and small in the middle of the jungles of Papua, Indonesia. I think he had a happy childhood, playing in the jungle, learning from me to read and to add and subtract, swimming in the tropical ocean.
I know that vacationing in the Baliem Valley of Papua and gathering fossils from the river banks, living among primitive tribal peoples and observing their humanness and sameness and their differences to all the rest of the world made a deep and lasting impression on Mike. So much so that anthropology has been bred into his bones and blood. So much so that when he decided to look at graduate schools and career changes that anthropology, the study of those first neighbors, first friends, is pulling him in to an area of academia that, while it has surprised others who know him less well, seems to me, his mother, a perfect fit for the little boy who carried his bows and arrows around the village in a string bag, who learned to build fires the Moskona way and burned his eyelashes off playing with that fire, bamboo tubes and kerosene, who rode in an airplane before he rode in a car, who was called by all the people in the village 'Manir Meyokda' (the little village chief) because he was one of their own.
I'm excited to see where this next year takes my #2 Son.
Happy Birthday, Mike!