Eighteen

The Boy was 18 yesterday.

I will have to refrain from referring to him as The Boy as he is now The Man.

That sounds pretty good being called The Man but he has assumed the position well.

Me and The Wife, as I call her, were congratulating ourselves in a typically modest and thankful way on getting all three of our offspring up to and beyond voting age.

Indeed the birthday celebrations happened to coincide with the news from eldest daughter that she had got her degree at the usual meritorious family grade. She was unable to be with us for the birthday festivities as she is marking the end of her four long academic years climbing up boulders and mountains in the South of France.

We continue to admire youngest daughter in her brave battling against injuries sustained in an accident which although severe have only made her more determined to get on with her life in her first full time job after graduation.

It is a fact that the three together make me and The Wife very proud and not a little bit emotional.

What of The Man?

Well, not to be patronising or parentally pushy he has excelled in everything that he has set his mind to do.

As I write this I can hear the riffs and runs of his electric guitar in which he has been entirely self taught. This has been through sheer determination and borne out of a great interest in and love of rock music in which he is now also an encyclopedia of facts and knowledge.

It only takes a few opening notes or a mid song phrase for instant recognition of title, artist and even date of release.

The technical level of his playing is as good as that found in recording artists but he is not one for self promotion or showboating and it is the world's loss that he has not yet found it in himself to allow anyone beyond close family to share and enjoy in his expertise.

We have trailed near and far in recent years to see his guitar heroes from Joe Bonamassa to Michael Schenker, Walter Trout to Angus Young and Matthias Jabs and tonight I am going along with him to see the undisputed master, Joe Satriani.

I have no ability whatsoever in the instrument but I find it engrossing and thrilling to be with The Man and in the company of those who have been influential in his progression from novice to virtuoso.

It has taken, to date ,and continues to demand considerable dedication, determination and focus to attain such a proficiency but by doing so in just one of his many interests we have every confidence that our son, The Man, will achieve all that he sets out to do in his life with similar spirit and reward.