"It's Sam!"

On this day, at almost exactly this same time, my son started to work his way out into life, thirteen years ago.

He saved me, plain and simple.

I was abandoned in a horribly lonely place, no chance of happiness.

But then he was there.

He protected me, focused me.

He brought me to life. At last.

We spent so much time together — before the divorce, before the ridiculous custody negotiations — I don’t think there was any part of any given day when he wasn’t there, right there, with me.

We went everywhere, did everything, together.

I have a stack of memories, hip deep…

…those first few moments, his dark eyes looking up as I told his mother “It’s Sam.”

…his first day, a thin August rain falling as he slept on my chest.

…so many sleepless nights, up pacing the floor with him, standing in front of the bookshelves and telling him about each of them, just to keep myself awake.

…early illness and missed days, little fevers and skittish daycare ladies, an extra day off from work, both of us together.

…checking on him, every night, sneaking in to make sure he was still breathing.

…sleeping in a playpen at the back of a theatre while I worked on my first commissioned playscript.

…the constant, daily fear that some horror would take him from me.

…bundled in rags, carrying him across a stage during a dress rehearsal of King Lear as I moped my way through my last stage role.

…sitting at the table, feeding his shreds of roasted chicken, wondering if he was going to leave enough for me to eat too.

…the strange girl on the street who called him ‘Leo’ and told me his aura was indigo.

…walking through the parking lot, marveling as he read off the letters that mark each space, already reading well ahead of his second birthday.

…sitting in his car seat, saying “More, more, more…” every time his favorite song was done. Elvis Costello, not Barney.

…the decision, early on, that I would never lie to him.

…sprawled out asleep in the middle of my bed, in a new house and a new city and a new state . . . while I unpacked and tried to sort through the chaos within and without.

…exploring this new place together, making discoveries, and little by little making it our own.

…his first day of school and how I cried.

…the discovery of a new family ritual: Friday Night Cartoons and Pizza.

…holding an alabaster egg in my hands and seeing a story take shape in my mind, a gift for him that he could keep forever.

…explaining to him that, no, Batman wasn’t a real person and what we were watching hadn’t actually happened.

…watching a cartoon together, crying with each other over the sadness of it all.

…a twin set of glass marbles that we carried, to stay connected to each other during difficult times.

…his care and enthusiasm over that sudden, unexpected little invader, his sister.

…his friends, those great boys with their carefree rapport and utter super coolness that I never knew at their age.

…his explosion, his abject sorrow when I told him about the Divorce.

…his trust, his complete faith in me that we would make it through this together.

…late nights watching scary movies, making popcorn and “those lime things”, staying up way too late for either of us.

…the realization two years ago that he was becoming, in his own way, an Artist . . . completely independent of anything or anyone else.

…shooting baskets this past summer, honestly enjoying basketball for the first time myself, all because of him.

…recognizing his generosity, his sensitivity as a small piece of myself but somehow far more holy than anything I could claim as my own.

…realizing as we drove home tonight that the girls in the car next to us were honking at him, for him, because of him.

…watching him grow, watching he become himself . . . knowing that one day soon I will be cheering him from far behind, once he outdistances me completely.

He was born today, my boy.

And he’s been my son and my friend ever since.