My son turns 17 today. He’s a typical teenager: sleeps a lot, eats a lot, answers complex questions with a grunt, and complains that the world is “not fair!” I love him to death. I don’t always like his behavior (that’s my shrink talking; can you tell?).

He’s mildly autistic, has ADD and a mild anxiety disorder. He doesn’t socialize much or well with kids his own age and his room usually looks like a bomb went off. And there’s that fug that teenagers carry with them no matter how much they shower.

But: he does a good job as a courtesy clerk at PCC, where I’m told he’s a great cleaner of bathrooms (apparently, that skill doesn’t translate to home). He loves his dog. All dogs. He takes a neighbor pet for walks when the owner, who is mildly disabled, is unable. He is engaged in the political world, volunteering for two campaigns, one for state senator, one for congressional representative. He reads news sites and Wikipedia for fun.

And then there was today. A month or so ago, there was a car accident at the corner a couple blocks up the road. A lady from the neighborhood swept up the debris. But it had scattered back into the road. So today he left early for work, broom in hand. He swept up the debris into a dustpan and walked it home to deposit into our garbage can.

Amazing kid.

Happy birthday Darling Son!