When I first came to the United States, the boy I was about to babysit was a few days shy of his 10th birthday. Today, he turned 21.
I can't take too much credit for his success in life since I was only his live-in nanny for two years, but I'm very proud to say that he's now a grown man with an interest in accounting and politics. He is the vice president of the student government at his pretty prestigious university, and he has a job working at a school in Harlem to learn how to manage a nonprofit organization.
He has his own apartment, and his girlfriend since four years goes to college in Massachusetts.
When I spoke to him on the phone today, we were both on our way to important meetings and disussed the benefits of driving a stick-shift vs. cruising around in an automatic car because you have more control. Like an adult, he politely asked me about work and about life.
We parted to attend to more important things in life, and I took a few moments to just reflect over this amazing boy who seems to have grown up so fast.
At this moment, I feel just like any proud parent would. Except that I'm not. But kind of, in a way.