I’m not sure why, but sentiment has framed my writing this February. Maybe I’m feeling my age, or perhaps I’m just maturing. Whatever it is, it feels okay, so I thought I’d share one more column of warmhearted prose.

Don’t worry, though – I’ll soon return to my kitchen tales, landscaping woes, and self-deprecating humor about my efforts to be a positive writer with a hint of cynicism. But for now, here are my terms of endearment.

I’ll never forget being a teenager full of angst and hope. It was a confusing time. I was agitated for no reason and longed for a new chapter in life. During my junior year of high school, much to my friends’ laughter and my parents’ skepticism, I announced I planned to work for National Geographic after graduation. I wanted to travel the world and write about everything I would see.

Life had other plans, and that dream eluded me – perhaps because I eluded myself, following the status quo: go to college, get a job. Ironically, college wasn’t the right fit for me, which led to a variety of life-altering paths that all served me well, including writing.

Today, I still see that same teenage boy with his mix of angst and hope, but his dreams are a little different. He lives in our home. His name is Landon. We are proud to call him our son.

Landon is approaching a pivotal point in his life, awaiting news he’s anticipated for months. As a father, it’s thrilling but difficult to watch. His emotions hang in the balance of a single outcome. I see the excitement and pressure within him. This will not be the first or last moment of its kind, but oh, what I would give if he could see how it will all be okay.

He’s 15, an age that can feel like the world is against him. So I thought I’d share words I hope all teenage boys – including my son – hear:

I see you, son. I see your hopes and fears, your dreams and flaws, your gifts and gentleness, your happiness and anger. I see your smile, your frown, and your confusion about so many things.

When you feel alone or unseen, know that I see you. I see the little boy and the fine young man you are. I see the grown man you will become – good through and through. I see the smiles you create in others and the way your mother smiles when you do.

I see your acceptance of people and your patience with yourself. You feel hurried at times, but you know you need to slow down – I see that. I see your ups and downs, your triumphs yet to come. You’ve met many goals and sometimes fallen short. You fall often, but you get up even more.

What feels easy now was hard before; what feels hard now will one day seem easier. I know this from experience, and someday you will, too.

You have integrity, something I discovered later in life. I see your understanding of balance, the importance of standing on your own, and your bravery even when you stumble. I see the worry in your mother’s eyes when you talk about dreams that might take you far away. She will always worry – that’s what mothers do – but she will do it with grace because of her love.

Growing up can feel lonely, but you’re never truly alone. Be confident in your vulnerability. Let your fears be known. Let go of control and let life unfold. Nothing is as serious as it seems, and someday, you will see.

Finally, from the soft side of my heart and the practical side of my brain: life is fun, so live it and never look back. And above all – never buy cheap peanut butter, coffee, or Worcestershire sauce. Everything else will fall into place. You will see.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].

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