My son is a King

My son is a King. He is one of those people. People like him are born not made. His grandmother was like this too. She was the kind of person that everyone loved instantly. She smiled and people flocked to her and wanted to do whatever she wanted. My son is the same. He drives people like me crazy, people that struggle to relate to others and to be liked. The second he walks into the room everyone is wrapped around his finger. He doesn’t even try.

When he was born my mother was dying. She hung around for another year to enjoy him. He was her favorite person ever. She drove people crazy talking about him. He’s just a baby Ma. I told her to get her to slow down but she just glared at me like I was stupid.  As she was leaving this world she touched him and bestowed on him all her best qualities: beauty, charm, and impossible stubbornness.

He wields all of this power easily. He had always been this way from the time he could speak, chin thrust out, defiant, letting his will become law. He is built this way. His will becomes law. Like my mother, no one can resist him. Most frighteningly you cannot tell you are bending to his will. It feels like something you want to do. But it is something that never occurred to you before you saw him.

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