The toy
figures are all carefully lined up in formation on the coffee table, as if they
are waiting in anticipation for what will they will be asked to do next. The young boy in front of them holds a stick in
his chubby hand, the expression on his face every bit as serious as an orchestra
conductor at the start of a complicated musical masterpiece. Evidently, the symphony is about to
begin. Over the next few minutes, his
little voice sings perfectly on key the tune to Beethoven’s Fifth: “Dun dun dun duuuuuun. Dun dun dun duuuuuun,”
while the stick alternates between being a conductor’s baton and a violin
bow. I watch and listen with
admiration, wondering, “Will this
three-year old boy grow up to be a famous musician?”
Unfortunately, I may never know the answer to that question. In spite of the fact that he has been my son for 2 ½ years, I don’t know how much longer he is going to live with me, how many more days that I will have the privilege of being his mother. I only know that I have this one day to make an impact on his life, to teach him the things that truly matter, to foster his potential.
