like no one else

We have a book that I have read to Liam on and off since he was born called Just in Case You Ever Wonder. I think partly he loves it so much because the wording is so affirming and comforting. One of my favorite lines in the book is, "God made you like no one else." It goes on to say, "No one with your eyes. No one with your mouth. No one with your laugh." After a 35-minute private concert this evening, I would like to add, "No one with your air guitar abilities."

I had sat down on Liam's rocking chair at 4:50 p.m. to feed Elliott before putting him down for the night and Liam popped in a Nightwish CD and said, "I'm going to play all the songs, mom."

"Okay, honey," I said absentmindedly. (What I meant was, as long as you don't bother Elliott, give me some peace, don't hurt yourself, stay in this room and don't make a mess, you may do whatever you like.)

I was in for a little surprise.

As the first song started, he spread his legs, bent his one knee, got his hands into position on his "guitar," rolled his head a little, gritted his teeth and said, "Yeah, let's go."

When the guitars kicked in, he let loose, his fingers flying up and down the fretboard, his (very longish) hair flipping back and forth with every headbang and his surprisingly lythe little body moving with the rhythm. When the guitars were fast, he'd do some complicated finger movements and go deeper into his squat, squinching his face into his best heavy-metal rocker expression. When the guitars were slow, he'd let up, stand straighter and shoot me a smile. And in sections where the guitars were absent, he'd wait patiently for them to begin again, never stepping out of character. By 5:25 p.m. his hair was damp, his cheeks, red, his mood, elated.

At that point, in the middle of a song, he abruptly turned off the CD player.

"That was my last song," he said.

"Liam, honey," I said, marveling that this was my kid, knowing that I just as easily could have gotten a soccer player or a mad scientist or a bookworm as an air guitar champion. "You were incredible. I loved watching that."

"Mom," he said thoughtfully as we walked downstairs, "Do you think the band guys sweat?"

"Uh, yeah. And then they probably take baths to get cleaned up."

"No. I don't think so. I think they eat a cookie."

"So, who are we talking about here?"

"The band guys!" (Duh!)

Pause. "Mom," he said. "Can I have a cookie?"

Liam, God made you like no one else. And we couldn't be luckier.