It’s so easy to be cynical with teen boys when you see them eat.

It’s easy to notice their hearing issues, their moods, their tendency to grunt.  Like most days, I see this and I worry about the future.

Will they ever be normal? Will I really get them to leave home when they are 18?

I have these questions and I fret. Because it was so much different with me, you see. In my fantasy world, I never ate with my mouth open or decided the rose bushes were a great place to leave my homework.

Ya right.

Of course, I was the same. I struggled when to get good grades. I wondered if girls liked me. My identity crisis lasted for about 10 years or more.

It’s easy to forget about that when I observe my boys. We were more alike at that age than I care to admit.

Then nights like tonight happen. When I am prone to wallow in parental despair, I see the oldest son quietly in a chair for a good 20 minutes. Riley has a thank-you card in his lap and he’s writing a detailed note inside.

He’s giving it to an adult he knows who happens to be going through some hard times. When he is done writing, he reads the note to me. The level of caring is beyond his years.

I look over at Spencer, my 12-year-old. On the surface, he’s building with Legos again. But when I study the intricacy of his work, I am impressed.

No detail is left undone in his Army fort and vehicle. He’s added computer screens and turrets everywhere. He designs have symmetry and reason. Spencer can explain in detail the technology behind his “weapons systems.”

I’m looking at an exceptional creative mind here. Along with his brother, I’m also getting a glimpse of the future.

And I like what I see.