Essays on Life, Experiences & Hopes
My father believed in the virtue of penmanship.
As a wee one he’d make me practice my writing for hours and would crumple sheets of letters if he didn’t think they were up to par.
Over the years though, as a man, I’ve been praised for my handwriting. I will even go out of my way to buy the best pens so as to enhance my impressions on crisp white paper or yellow Post-It notes.
To my son, I’ll encourage the same fondness for lettering. Perhaps not with the same fervor.
I eugolized my father.
At the moment of truth I had the chance to speak my mind. To say it like it was(is).
But my father wasn’t a monster. He was a flawed man.
Not very different from me.
So I stood at the podium. Wrapped my hands around its wooden sides, looked at my mother and my sisters and channeled what he would have practiced to say.
It wasn’t poetic but the words resonated.
I was asked to write my son a letter that would comfort him in the event of an emergency.
Not a simple assigment. I write all day but I struggled to find the right combination of words that would give him comfort should we not be there for a reason.
What do you tell your son from afar in dire times? How well do I know him and how do I express comfort when another person reads it?
In the end I wrote from the heart. Told him that we’d do the best we could to reach him as quickly as we could. To continue to sing his silly songs and listen to his teacher.
And also…..to remember his Jedi training.
Change is happening.
The normalcy that we’ve built over the last few years has started to shift and will eventually morph into something different.
That’s the ebb and flow of all relationships that stand the test of time.
Our challenge is to continue to trust one another and say the things that feel real. To recollect the simple charms of youth and take pride in the ways we’ve made each other grow.
We have done it before, we are doing it now and in time…we’ll do it again.
In the blink of an eye you went from being a bundle of joy to a curious tyke.
Slowly, I’ve been pouring into you my limited wisdom, my songs and my hopes for you. Every day I’ve come home to share in your latest discovery. To hear your stories and to excitedly gasps with delight at your take on the world you get to experience.
Then today you took your first step out of an accomplishment and you’re running toward the next this fall.
I could cry! I can laugh! I can hold you in my arms for a few.
Congratulations to my little man. Your daddy loves you so very much.
If we were to visit another planet what would the natives think of our bodies? As “normal” as we seem, they might still be scared of our odd features.