How do I start this? I guess at the beginning. Okay, picture the scene: it was Sydney, 2000, and the entire city was basking in the afterglow of the recently contested Olympic games. There was a general good mood over the city and a rather apprehensive one in the flat in Lane Cove where your dad and I were living; we were sitting side-by-side on our bed waiting for the result to appear on a home pregnancy test. We had undergone so many months of heartbreak trying to achieve a pregnancy, including invasive tests to correct an issue I had, but this month was different. Sounds corny, but I knew.
Didn't stop me being scared to look at the test in case there was more heartbreak.
The pink line appeared, growing stronger and more distinct.
'Wow,' your dad whispered. 'I'm going to be a dad!'
Your paternal grandparents were staying with us. We told them the news. Your late Poppy kissed me on the cheek. You don't remember him, but he loved you very much, and you enjoyed playing with him. Your Neena told us how happy she was for us, but she was not as happy as we were. We were going to be a family!
You arrived two and a half weeks prior to your expected date. Until then, I thought the most beautiful thing I had ever seen was a Himalayan sunrise. You eclipsed that. I had never seen anything so wonderful as the tiny, vernix-coated scrap with black hair growing over his skull in the same pattern as his dad's. The midwife put you against my chest and you looked at me with an expression that was a mix of bewilderment and indignation. You looked like you were thinking: What the hell was THAT about? I felt like a question had been answered (So THAT'S what you look like!). I also felt amazingly protective and welcoming of you. I greeted you by saying 'hello' and gave you a kiss on the head. Your dad was crying, 'Look at him! Look at him!', and when the midwife asked what was your name, your dad tried to say 'Aaron', but instead made incoherent 'Aaaaah' sounds like a Bee Gee. We toasted your arrival with sparkling wine that had gone warm served in unenvironmentally friendly polystyrene cups, but it felt like we were drinking Moet et Chandon in Waterford crystal flutes. The midwives brought me some vegemite on toast, and I spilled crumbs on your head as I ate it.
You were a pleasant-natured baby who developed into a pleasant-natured little boy. We moved to the Hunter Valley, where you attended school. On your first day of school, you showed me the drinking bubblers and suggested we install some at our house. You did well at school, achieving a host of merit awards for school work and showing good manners. With the exception of one year, you were awarded Academic Achievement at every end-of-year assembly throughout primary school, and were nominated for Dux in your final year. Your dad and I would clear the calendar because we anticipated receiving the invitation from the school! You clearly get your mathematical and engineering skills from your dad, as well as your looks. We both gave you a good grasp of literacy. Once you showed me a cartoon your younger brother had drawn, wherein a character was uttering a misspelled F-word (the 'c' was missing). I asked you whether you had actually done this yourself in an attempt to get your brother into trouble. You rolled your eyes and replied, 'Come on, Mum. I would have spelled that properly!'
You continued the upward curve into Fine Young Man throughout your high school years. You enjoyed soccer games, and played well and with sportsmanship. You continued to perform well academically, too. You also developed a sardonic wit that would give Paul Keating a run for his money (look him up, my son!). How we enjoy your company and the conversations we have! We have become a formidable force, together with your buddy Drew, at the pub trivia. It's not only the fact we play well and win the occasional bottle of wine, I enjoy the conversation and repartee. You are not only our son, you are our friend.
You have lived twenty-one years, so have had the opportunities to realise life isn't always great. I remember the mixture of sorrow and pride I felt when I saw you carrying your Pop's (my dad) coffin when you were just fourteen, and performing the duty of pallbearer along with your dad, uncles, and cousins. You were stoic and strong, and when Pop's coffin was in the hearse, you wept in your dad's arms. I cried watching you as you experienced grief. A few years later, we said goodbye to our beautiful dog Brock. We sat in the vet's surgery, passing a box of tissues back and forth. You held Brock's paw to let him know you were there for him in those final moments. Again, I felt pride with my grief. You were there for Brock when he needed you. You are there for your dad when he needs you. You are there for Michael when he needs you (you were the person Michael wanted when he experienced bullying in primary school). You were there for me when I needed a support person for some unpleasant business last year. I don't think you realise the strength I drew from your presence on those occasions. I was proud of the dignity you showed when it was required. Your dad was proud of what you did for me. Your pop would have been very proud of you, too.
Speaking of Pop, remember how proud we all were when he led the Scone Horse Parade in 2013? You will understand what an important honour it was to Pop, but do you know what was his favourite part of the day? It was when you hugged him after the parade and said, 'I'm very proud of you, Pop.' You made his day!
We are so proud of your intellect, your kindness, and your tinder-dry sense of humour. There is a good reason you are entrusted with creating the team name every week for trivia!
You are so many things, Aaron. You are our son, Michael's older brother, Neena's grandson, a special person to Jialin, and a mate to that coterie of fine young people you call your friends. You are now the adoptive father of Daisey the Beagle-And-Who-Knows-What-Else-Cross. You're a Star Wars nerd, a fine Lego builder, a collector of anime themed plushies (I think we're going to need to hire a shipping container for your collection soon!), a dog lover, and a 'quiet' raconteur. You are kind to animals, but have a steadfast conviction the sunfish is a useless and ugly creature with no right to exist on our planet. Your humour is a marvelous dry and sardonic blend of Paul Keating and Stephen Fry. You follow politics and have a detestation for injustice.
The day you were born, your dad filmed me giving you a message. I cannot locate the tape; I daresay it's been destroyed in those floods we had. I recall what I said: 'I'm really looking forward to getting to know you and being your mum'.
I was right.
From all of us: Happy 21st birthday, Aaron. We love you.
