Sorting

Dumping the contents
of a large, black, plastic leaf bag
onto the bed.

"This is everyting I have."
Alrighty, so let's make two piles.
Keep and give away.
"No, lets make it Keep and Trash."
Here are your winter things, lets just put those away for the summer.
"Sounds good."
Do you still wear this T-shirt?
"Yea, keep it."
Here are some pants, do they fit?
He holds them up.
"Yea, they do."
Here are your shorts. I can see you've worked in these. So they should remain your work shorts.
Don't work in your new shorts. Keep them separate.
"Okay. I will."
Here's your jacket.
"Now this coat here, it screams one word."
Long pause
" Poor."
Uh huh, I see what you mean.
"Look at it."
I look at it closely. No identifying marks like Nike or Adidas. Some stains on the gray fleece.
Yea, I see what you mean.
"Trash."
Yea, trash.

The new clothes lay in nice neat stacks on the bed.
I look up at my son, now taller than me,
with a deep voice, who shaves, and eats everything I put in front of him,
and says a genuine, "Thanks for cooking" even when its just a piece of toast,
and I want to cry.
Tears of joy, but some grief too.
Where did the little boy with round cheeks go?
His square jaw, set firm, and strong, like I imagined.
But I'm just not ready for this.
Not ready to say good-bye to the little boy