Impresty

I use to be a really good aunt. My mom and sister thought it might traumatize me, at fourteen, to be in the delivery room, so I was standing in the hall when my first nephew was born. I listened for his first cry. I will never forget it. As a toddler, when Logan thought something was impressive, he would say it was "impresty." Now he says, "Sweet." When he first started talking, I taught him that when asked who loves Logan, he should answer, "Aunt Val." I was a really good aunt. I remember reading him books, going fishing, playing ball outside, going to his little baseball games, and taking his werewolf picture at his Halloween parade. I fixed him his favorite snacks. I remember calling my sister to bring him over on the weekends and then casting frequent glances out the window as I wondered what in the world could be taking her so long to get there.

As he got older, I got older. I got a job and got married and had kids. My kids started having ball games and programs and Halloween parades. Now Logan fishes, hunts, drives trucks and tractors, and brings us loads of firewood in the winter. And I don't feel like I am such a great aunt anymore. He still hugs me on occasion, but I can't pick him up anymore. He has been taller than me for a long time. I don't think I was paying enough attention. Somehow when I was changing diapers and going on preschool field trips my nephew became a young man. A handsome young man, as you can see from this picture from the grand march. Yes, he is old enough to go to prom. I still get to see him at all of our family gatherings, but not as often as I once did. I hope he always knows his Aunt Val loves him. And I think he is impresty.