Our friend Ian McRae came over for dinner Friday and brought us a pizza to feed me while I am sick. It was thoughtful. Ian was the happiest and most engaged I can remember; he took his first college-level poetry and creative writing course.

He was excited by the class; he said he got into a great fight with a classmate about the meaning of poetry. Ian is coming into his own, confident about his poetry, eager to take a class with 24 other aspiring poets, and deep into talk about his future.

This is good; he and I don’t need to fight more about his creativity. He knows that he has a lot.

He’s a farm kid in many ways, shearing sheep and harvesting hay for farmers and family members on weekends. That is an essential part of his life. But he’s also deeply into planning for his future. We have come to love Ian; he feels like family to us. I’ve known him for nearly four years, and we are getting closer constantly.

He and Maria love talking about art. I can’t talk much about art and poetry; writing is my subject and main interest, and lately, photography.

It was thoughtful of him to come and bring me a pizza, and it was good to eat one that would stay down.

I love taking his picture; he looks different every time he comes. Ian has taken off like rocket creativity; his shyness and self-doubting seem to vanish; he is zooming past me when he talks about poetry and imagination.

I’m pushing him to think about a more challenging job than the one he has hauling slate. He needs to be around people his age he can talk with, argue with, and get drunk with. He’s thinking about a career that is stimulating and challenging.

He’s committed to writing poetry and getting much praise for it.

Knowing him is a great joy to me, and it was a lift to see him; I haven’t had company for several weeks.

He’s a lot of fun, and I love him like family. He is a lot like the son I imagined and lost years ago in many ways – innovative, funny, stubborn, creative.