My boy

He looks like a different man, about 2 inches taller, 10 pounds thinner, clean-shave, and grinning from ear to ear when we pick him up outside his dorm at Bard. I'm turning into one of those dorky mothers that wants to cry when she sees her son for the first time, and ask him if he's getting enough to eat. It is all I can do not to say these things, and whenever I venture there, J pokes my knee under the table. He has a new appreciation for the Bible, having read Genesis, Corinthians & Romans for First Year Seminar & is currently Xenophon. His Econ class has been interesting this term (ha ha) and he likes Paul Krugman. They (J & N) talk about Leicas and lighting and photographing in Manhattan as opposed to upstate. He tells us about spraying his roomate's socks with air freshener when he leaves the room and how he can't keep his fridge stocked. He's cold, it's cold up here, he says, but he's happy. We eat steak and gnocchi and I gaze at him, like a ninny, wondering how on earth my little blue Power Ranger has turned into a handsome young man in an Obama Can I Kick It? shirt eloquently parsing Socratic dialog and trying to figure out how to bring his snowboard out from LA.