Happy Birthday, Oliver !

Today, Oliver is 14 years old. At the risk of being "cliche" I need to say: "where has the time gone?" Where did this 6 feet and then some, teenager came from and what happened to my boy?

Oliver is a sweet boy, with a big heart for people, and is always ready to help. A few weeks ago when we moved, he worked like a professional mover, carrying, loading and unloading, moving stuff, big, strong, always with a smile on his face.

But that is not why I love you, Oliver.

Oliver has three sisters, and with all three he as a different, and awesome relationship. Francesca is his big sister, counselor, movie-watcher buddy, and friend. Isabella is his little sister, and with her he is more protective and acts like a guide whenever she asks for advice.
Angelina is Oliver's youngest sister, and for her, Oliver is a big, good, giant. He adores her and she worships the land he walks on. For her, "oller" cannot do wrong.

But this is not why I love him.

Oliver is my son, my only, sweet boy. I remember the day he was born, like yesterday. I remember the weather when we were running 85mph to the hospital ( it was an emergency c-section ) and how wonderful he was, so little, so identical to me it was not even funny. The nurses at the hospital looked at him, looked up at me, and were stunned.
He was ... me, only way smaller, and without glasses.

And even this is not why I love my son.

During his first ten years of life, he had two eye surgeries, and one brain surgery. I have to say he was extremely brave in all this occasions. Grown-ups often don't behave as brave and calm as he did immediately before his biggest surgery.

Oliver likes to cook, and experiment with it, and he is surprisingly good at it (great profiterols !). He enjoys family life, good friends, likes to read comic books, watch movies, and he quotes them all the time. His spirit and his heart are in the right place, and he always looks out for the "underdog" Ready to smile, give a hand, help, give a glass of fresh water to a homeless man at the corner.

Family counts for him, and counts a lot. He understands more than he lets us know about, and even if he usually does not speak a lot, he does think about a lot of things, and when he thinks he is ready, he tells us.

For ALL the things above, and for many more, Oliver, I love you. You are my son, my little boy, and sometime I think you, at the young age of 14, for some things have more judgment than me.

I feel sorry for all the dads that do not have you as a son. I think it is fun to do stuff together, and we need to do more, and we will.

Happy Birthday, Oliver.

Love,
Dad.