My son and I laugh a lot. He brings me tissues when I cry. He helps me whip new marinades for pork that refuses to cook correctly and he always waits patiently without complaining. Recently I’ve been comparing a lack of positive personality traits in ex-boyfriends to those my son does have. It has verified that the happiness I seek isn’t in a lover like my unstable mother manipulated me into believing. My happiness can be anywhere. And sometimes I can find it shining brilliantly in my son’s laughter.