Thank You. He's 6.

I'm not real sure when exactly it happened. I'm pretty sure it was a gradual slope and not just a giant fall, but we've reached the destination that I always knew we would: The day when people just don't constantly tell me how cute J is.

For the first few years, no matter where we went we were always getting compliments, looks, and smiles of admiration for our little guy. Every single time we took him somewhere we heard it several times during the outing. I know that we're not alone; every parent hears the same. After all, babies are just cute. There is something about them that lures people into their little spell. They're soft, they're chubby, they're cuddly.

As he morphed into a toddler, he was still adorable. A little roley poley man wobbling around, trying to keep his balance while getting from here to there all with a huge, one-tooth smile full of slobber on his face.

( J @ six months )

I am not exaggerating when I say that he thought Cute was his middle name. At the mention of the word in his presence he would look over to the person speaking it and expect some sort of acknowledgement.

At his two-year checkup his pediatrician told me to prepare myself for the day that he stopped looking like a toddler and more like a little man. then one day about a year later we were walking through the airport. He was in front of me in his little Jordan sweatsuit holding Bunkey on our way to the gate. People just stopped to see him. They smiled, waved, and uttered several adjectives to describe his appearance all of which are synonyms of precious. I wondered how much longer that would last.

It's inevitable. Every parent stops hearing it eventually, or at least on a daily basis.

We're now three years removed from that day at the airport. He turned six on Saturday. Something about this age really had him excited. He woke up that morning shouting, "I'm Six, I'm Six." Throughout the day he told anybody that would listen -- and that was a lot of people -- that he was six. That evening when my bro, his kids, and my mom called to wish him a Happy Birthday they all got the same response: "Thank You. I'm 6." When my Tia Nena called a few moments after, "Thank You. I'm 6."

These days, the compliments are much more spread out and they usually come in the form of the more age-appropriate, "What a handsome boy." We can't walk by an older Asian woman without hearing something along those lines. Apparently they have a bias for half-breed little boys with radiant skin and beautiful brown eyes. No longer taking it for granted, I feel humbled and thankful for what really seem like genuine words.

Let me make this clear, to me he's as adorable as he was on Day 1; as he is to his Dad and both of his grandmothers. You can't tell me otherwise. Try as you might, I'm not listening.

While the rolls, slobbers, and coos of the little baby may be gone, a little man has emerged. A little man that along with the occasional compliments about his physical appearance hears a lot about his demeanor. "He's so smart. He's so well-spoken. He's so polite." We will never get tired of sucking up the comments about his cuteness, but the others are the ones that really matter. It's a testament to the work we, as parents, put into the rearing of our kids. The fruits of our labors are emerging as well.

I usually don't know how to respond to that. Next time, however, I'll sum it up with,

"Thank You. He's 6 ."

(and on the day he turned six years)