But, what I truly see is not that at all.
I see him at 1 year old, when he would take his first steps and say his first words.
I see him at 3, when he would ask me to hold his hand really tight, so he wouldn't lose me at the Shopping Mall.
I see him at 4, when he would ask me for pots and pans and wooden spoons, so he could use them as a drum set.
I see him at 5, when he wouldn't hold my hand anymore, and lost me at the Shopping Mall.
I see him at 6, when he would ask me for a red towel, so he could use it as a red cape, run around the neighbourhood and pretend to be Superman.
I see him at 7, when I had to rush to the school because during Math class, instead of using dry pasta shells as learning tools, he decided to shove them into his nostrils.
I see him at 8, when a small guitar came into his life, the beginning of what later became a passion.
I see him at 11, when a young girl came into his life, the beginning of what later became another passion.
I see him at 12, when a No.10 soccer jersey was all the luck he needed to score a goal.
I see him at 14, his heart racing, when his 70's-style long hair was getting buzzed.
I see him at 17, with a corsage in his hands, when he was leaving to his High School Prom.
I see him at 18, with a car full of stuff and a mind full of worries, when he was moving into University.
I see him today, at 22, 6 foot small, with his long hair, his guitar, his red cape, letting go of my hand, getting ready to go... and save the world.