Well, I was personally tasked with writing a letter to my 9 year old, 4th grade son, to be read aloud by his teacher to his class. The format was flexible. I had a blank slate. I procrastinated until the last minute.
Dear Harrisen:
I have written many letters in my
lifetime, but I don't think I've ever had such a hard time starting a
letter before!
This is a hard assignment. I will have
to speak to your teacher about that. Parents should be given easy
assignments because our brains are old.
Why is it hard? It's hard because
almost 10 years of awesomeness is hard to put into words. (at least
into words that will fit on the amount of paper in the printer, and
not keep your friends from missing recess). It's hard because there
are literally thousands of memories that come to mind when when I
think of you. It's hard because I have to choose the things that
mean the most and tell them in a way that other people will
understand. It's more complicated that it sounds on that little sheet
Mrs. Morrison sent home.
So, I think I will talk about some
times when you made me very proud. Why did I choose proud? Why didn't
I choose the times when you made me laugh (because there are lots of
those.) Or the times you made me so mad I had steam coming out of my
ears? (because there are a few of those). Because proud is what
parents really love. I'll tell you a secret. Nobody has a baby and
immediately knows how to be a parent. You have to learn it. You have
to figure it out as you go along, day by day, moment by moment. Many,
many times, parents are convinced they are doing it all wrong. But in
those moments when our children make us proud, well, that's when we
know we must be doing something right.
When you were just a baby, you would
sit in the bathtub and play with these stick on foam animal shapes.
You learned all of your animals in the bathtub. Cow. Horse. Duck.
Sheep. I was convinced you were the most genius of babies. You knew
your animals! I was so proud.
Your sister was born. You came to the
hospital and peeped at her through the plastic window of her hospital
crib. You held her, very very gently in my lap. You patted her soft
little head and said “baby sister” over and over and over. You
were a loving and good big brother, from the very first minute. I was
so proud.
You went to preschool. You were
independent and carried your little backpack right into the big
schoolroom and didn't look back. You didn't cry or hold onto my leg
or even wave “bye”. You were ready. You seemed like just a baby
to me, but you walked into that classroom and sat down and I was so
proud.
You learned to read. You learned to do
math, and spell, and understand science. I watched your understanding
of the world around you grow. Our conversations were interesting, and
made me think. You sometimes told me things I didn't ever know
before. In those moments, when you teach me things that increase my
own knowledge, I am so proud.
You became an athlete. You went from a
baby in a swim diaper at the Swim School, to attending the State Meet
with your swim team last year, and running, biking and swimming in
your first triathlons. I love watching you glide through the water, a
far better swimmer than I will ever be. I love watching you poised on
the blocks, waiting, ready to spring into action and dive into your
race when the horn sounds. I love how confident you are in the water,
and how you always strive to improve and understand how to be better.
I see you being a good student to your coaches and a good teammate to
the other swimmers. I see you pushing hard and crossing that finish
line at your races, and I am so proud.
You became a Scout. From the moment you
learned the Cub Scout motto, and the promise, I knew that you would
be an excellent scout. You are all of the things the scouts stand
for, and I love watching as your love of nature, camping, paddling,
archery, and the outdoors get recognized and celebrated in Scouting.
Every time you race a cubmobile, a pinewood derby car, earn a
belt-loop or medal, or even just stand respectfully at attention,
giving the scout salute to our flag, I am so proud.
You began receiving your sacraments.
From your baptism in the dark during Hurricane Rita, to your
Reconciliation and First Holy Eucharist, I have watched you grow
closer to God and to his Son. Your reverence and love of our Church
makes you very, very special to me and to God. You will soon become
an altar server, and when I see you up on the altar, I will be so
proud.
You became, along the way, a person of
great empathy. Empathy is a rare quality in grown ups, and even more
rare in a child. I know you know what I mean by empathetic. It means
you are able to put yourself in someone else's shoes and feel what
they are feeling. Good or bad, you are able to think of others and
understand how they feel, and how best to be their friend or family
member at that time. So many times, I have come home from work tired,
and worn out. So many times my own child has patted my shoulder in a
way that makes me feel understood and comforted. Many adults never
figure that out, and you have figured it out already. Having a child
who cares about the hearts and souls of other people makes me
incredibly proud.
You grew and grew, and you are still
growing, though I hope your feet slow down soon! Some moms don't like
their babies growing up. They cry with each little growing-up
milestone. I didn't cry because you were growing up. Never. I still
love watching you grow. Each new year is full of new experiences and
things you can do that you couldn't do before. I love seeing what you
do, and what you are becoming. Maybe next year, you will even learn
to keep your room clean and pick up your shoes and socks out of the
living room. And I will be SO proud.
Love,
Mom
I suppose it was a success. My son smiled ear to ear at carpool. He read his letter aloud to his sister. He proclaimed it "the best letter yet....but longer that average."
I share it here, because it was never intended to be private, and because I am SO proud of him.
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