Dear Boy,
We're two thirds of the way to eighteen. I can pretty clearly remember when you turned six and I realized that you were one third of the way to eighteen and I momentarily freaked out a little. Maybe it's because I have your tornado toddler of a brother now and in some ways it feels like I'll be actively parenting for the rest of my life, but I'm not lamenting this twelve quite like I lamented six. Perhaps I've just given up on trying to keep you little. Or, perhaps, I'm looking forward, in some warped and demented way, to watching you become a man.
The eye rolling, looking at me like I'm a complete moron, phase of our relationship has begun. I don't love that, not gonna lie. However, I know a lot of preteen boys and, I'm not kidding when I say that I wouldn't trade you for a single one of them. Oh some of them are great, to be sure. It's just that none of them are you.
There are more athletic boys in the world. There are smarter ones and more talented ones. I don't say that to be mean. I say it because you have enough ego strength to handle it. You always have. You may not be the best baseball player and you may not set the curve on the math test but you are incredibly well rounded. And you are respectful and kind. This summer, in particular, I have had several people tell me what an amazing kid you are. People who meet you for an hour or hang out with you for half a day and then send me glowing messages about your maturity and your manners.
I recently received a compliment on my parenting (BY THE GRACE OF GOD ALONE, KID). I was told that we are doing a great job--that we are stricter than most but that's okay. I suppose, as I look around me, that that's true. I'm sure you don't enjoy being the kid who has the "stricter than most" parents. I hope, though, that some day, you look back on your life and appreciate the rules and the boundaries. I hope you are grateful that we do not allow disrespect or entitlement. I hope that you can find peace and joy in the fact that we ask you to try to live like Jesus did and that we try (and oh how we fail) to show that to you by example. And I hope that, under all that weight of strict parenting, you know that I see you.
When we were recently in the Redwoods, I was speaking to a volunteer ranger. It was hard to keep you and your brothers quiet. Will, because he's a maniac. You and Matt because your voices and your countenance were alive with the mystery and majesty of those giants. For dad and me, we feel silenced by the awe of those woody sentinels. But for you, there was adventure in every moment. I apologized to the ranger. "We're trying to keep them quiet--" I couldn't finish my sentence. He interrupted me.
"Why?" he interjected. "They can be quiet when they're old!"
His statement rocked this boymom. I try to let you live, to watch you climb trees because they are God's gift to boys, to allow you to be loud and assertive, to be rogue in this society of screens and quiet whispers. But I still find myself apologizing for my boisterous boys. No more. God gave me larger than life, noisy boys--and He started by giving me you. And you, my dearest one, can be quiet and contained when you are old. (Except when your teacher is talking. Please also be quiet when your teacher is talking.)
You have made me so proud. This year alone, as I sat in our end of the year assembly and heard your beautiful name so many times. Making it to Regionals in the science fair--you just kept doing extra work to make it ready for the next level. You and your dad sat and sat and worked and worked and fixed and fixed that project until you took it as far as you could and got second place at the highest level. You finished the 40 book challenge. You participated in Monster Math. You took second place in the geography bee, losing only to a sixth grader.
Beyond your academic accolades, your teacher told me, on so many occasions in the faculty room, what an amazing friend you had been to someone that day. You served on student council after having to interview for the position. Outside of the classroom, you had an incredible batting average on the baseball field and worked so hard on the football field. You earned your Tenderfoot rank in scouts and are well on your way to Second Class. You participated in Kids Club and always memorized all your verses and completed all your homework.
You love the outdoors and want to be in the military. A free spirit at heart. A boy who loves travel and adventure and discovery. Your eyes--still the most unique color I have ever, ever seen--are deep and wise even if you are telling dorky twelve year old boy jokes most of the time.
We're going to New York. You and me and Grandma. I promised you a trip at the end of sixth grade if you were respectful and kind and didn't turn into a raging preteen jerk. But then we sold puppies and had the money now. And so we're New York bound for this twelfth birthday of yours. We'll kick off your last year of elementary school and celebrate your eclectic self. You are excited to see the Statue of Liberty and your history loving side can't wait to go to Ellis Island and visit Hamilton's grave. But you're also excited to go to a Broadway show and wander Central Park. I'm so excited to spend a few days with just my one oldest son--making memories and seeing one of my most favorite cities through your eyes.
I love you. Don't get me wrong, there are days when I'd pay gypsies to take you, but they are not the norm. The reality is that I wouldn't trade you for all the money in the world. You are such a very, very good egg. I love you. And if you ever, ever doubt that, I hope you will read these words and know that you were worth the wait. You were worth the tears and the fears and every moment that it took to finally hold you in my arms. I am so thankful that you made me a mama.
Always, all of my love,
Mom
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