My little boy is in love
I never used to think young love was a good idea, not when it extended into adulthood anyway.
Photo: Wikimedia Commons.
My little boy is 22, and has been in love for the last six years.
He and his lady just celebrated their anniversary – over a quarter of their lives together – and, at the risk of jinxing things, dare I suggest that they could teach us all a thing or two about love?
I never used to think young love was a good idea, not when it extended into adulthood anyway. It seemed to me that teen romances that morphed into grownup relationships were doomed, plagued by childish insecurities, obsessions and jealousies.
Like child stars whose personalities stall at the point they become famous, the feelings never grow up.
And then my son came along to teach me a lesson.
From day one they were on each other’s side, but not joined at the hip.
They gave each other support, they gave each other space, they encouraged each other’s diverse friendships and interests – with both boys and girls.
They never tried to control each other.
He went to America with his mates to work for summer. She followed in time, and they travelled together.
She went on holiday without him; she went dancing with her college pals. He played his PlayStation and never doubted her.
They interrailed across Europe with friends, looking after each other when the inevitable food poisoning struck.
When she was diagnosed with illness, he held her hand. He takes her to physio, helps with her injections, and has sat beside her hospital bed for days.
They went to different universities, sometimes meeting for lunch but as often left each other to their studies and (now) careers without being demanding.
Still, they always considered each other first. From day one, neither of them was looking over the other’s shoulder for something better.
So on Saturday he cooked their anniversary dinner: goats cheese tartlets, because it’s her favourite; fish ’n chips “MasterChef-style”, because the fish was salmon, and the chips were an Ottolenghi recipe; and chocolate mousse (happily, he made enough for his mom).
She bought the wine and a hand-made card, and they dressed up and lit candles … but they both wore their slippers. A perfect metaphor.
Jennie Ridyard
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