Letter to My 2020 Graduate

The graduation invitations are rolling in now. And we parents of the class of 2020 are crossing our fingers and toes with the hopes of actually having the parties. Am I sad that our son's senior year was hijacked by a pandemic? Undeniably. But here's the truth: I was going to be a sappy mess anyway. So, with our youngest nearly out of the house, I'd rather focus on the pride and love I feel for the kid. Thus, here's my letter to him on his High School Graduation:

Cole–

When I was pregnant with you, I wondered how it would be possible to love another child as much as I loved your sister. Then you came out, almost exactly on schedule (always so punctual), and I learned how the heart can expand. After your father nearly fainted, and Dr. Markham had to heave your big melon out of my stomach, they placed you in my arms. And I fell in love all over again.

Cute Cole. Head Tilt and All.

From the time you were a baby (even during your crabby, collicky phase), you've been a ray of light in our family – and not just because of your blinding white hair. Superheroes were not merely a childhood fascination. They were, and still are, a philosophy. While I took pause at your fascination with Darth Vader, it never bothered me one bit that you wanted to grow up to be Spiderman or Batman. I knew you would embrace the responsibility of any kind of power. And while you might not swing from rooftop to rooftop saving lives, you certainly understand how to impact others by showing simple kindness to anyone and everyone. I loved it when you called me out on getting unknowingly snippy at the doctor's office, worried I had hurt a nurse's feelings. (I did call back and apologize, much to their surprise and appreciation.)

BFFs in Isolated Celebration

Your zest for people and life is so abundantly clear. With you, everyone and everything is your favorite or the best. Every meal is your favorite, as long as there's no cabbage or strawberries in the recipe. Every movie is regarded as the best of all time in some obscure critic's list on the Internet. And your friends are always, always the best. No matter what happens, they are the best. While we might give you a hard time about your phone, I completely understand why you connect with people. Your bright and empathetic personality makes everyone's day. All 90 streaks of them.

Beyond your great personality, it's such a joy to watch your talent. We have loved watching you excel in soccer and do well in just about any sport, as long as you could sprint! But here's what I love about your attitude toward sports: You love them. You enjoy them. But sports aren't everything to you. You've been a talented artist since you were a toddler. You're articulate and can speak to a crowd at the drop of a hat. And if given a choice between playing soccer or watching a newly-released Marvel movie, I think you'd be genuinely torn.

There are so many more things about you that make me smile:

• Your ability to diffuse me immediately when I'm upset with you. You never get defensive. You just agree. This is both maddening and impressive.
• How you can play Call of Duty until the enemy has been completely annihilated, but you'd never shoot a living thing.
• Your happy whistle, announcing your entrance – even at 1:00 AM in the morning.
• How you tell us more than we want to know because you trust us. You don't even seem to mind a few lectures after your tell-all, parent-flinching stories.
• Your sense of humor and ability to quote movie lines with perfect timing because of the high quality parenting you received as a child.
• How you play with our dog, the cat and your bottle-fed calf.
• How much you respect Jim Halpert.
• Your capacity to eat and eat and eat as if you have a tapeworm, and then say no to ice cream simply because you're not hungry. No one eats ice cream because they're hungry.
• How you cry right along with me during movies. I love this.

I love all of these things and more about you. There's no doubt in my mind you were born to have an amazing impact on anyone and everyone you meet. Your goodness, desire to achieve, and ability to love without judging will take you far in life, bud. 

Wishing you all the joy, peace and success in the world, Cole. And, of course...

May the Force Be With You.

Love,

Mom

There She Goes

Dear Alex,

You graduated from high school yesterday. It's so weird, because you were just born yesterday.

Your last seventeen years have stormed my brain these past few months as I've combed through pictures for the almighty graduation party. The picture-gathering turned out to be a fairly profound experience–something more than therapeutic, bordering on spiritual.

You might be surprised to know this, but I often wonder if I've done everything right...any thing right. Or if you're armed with all the appropriate bits of knowledge and personal mantras as you step off into the world.

I think you are. You've always seemed ready to take on the world. But when you find yourself alone, in a situation wondering what to do, think back upon your life growing up here. Memories can be a well-spring.

Do you remember...

• telling me being "brave doesn't mean you go looking for trouble"? Circa. 2000, quoting Mufasa at age 3, around the time of your Lion King fixation? Keep that piece of advice nearby, especially when you decide to accept that journalism assignment overseas.
• wearing your "people" shirt for weeks on end? Despite my attempts to hide the dingy, psychedelic tee, and my introduction of new fancier garments? You'd always manage to come strolling out of your bedroom, copping that bold three-year-old attitude in that unrelenting people shirt. We certainly had our share of clothing debates through the years, but you always held your ground. And what a lovely sense of style you've developed by not listening to me. Always hold your ground. Unless you want to start dressing like your banker mama.
• venturing off to find the restroom in a crowded mall when you were only four? While I was securing Cole in a stroller? Maintain that conquering, wandering spirit. But don't forget your mother's frantic expression when she found you. Dangers lurk.
• asking me, repeatedly, if I still loved you after Cole joined the family? I will always, always reassure my love for you. Take my lead. Always reassure your love to the people you hold dearest.
• your attachment to unconventional objects? Justine's blanket. (The Cabbage Patch doll accessory more loved than the actual doll.) The ferret photo you carried around for months. "Pretty" candy wrappers you'd save in your room. Five trillion stuffed animals with varying textures to vex your already awful allergies. I can still walk into your room and find a trove of eccentricities. Forgive me for admonishing you for touching every product on the shelves when we entered a store–clerks are weird about that stuff though. But don't ever lose that innate curiosity and ability to find value in the overlooked.
• wanting to become an artist and a worker at Dairy Queen? Of course, you had many other aspirations, but I couldn't wait to tell you, when you grew up, that reaching your dream of working at Dairy Queen would be very achievable. As for the artist thing, I never once thought that you wouldn't be some kind of artist during your lifetime.
• creating, creating, and creating some more?  Such as the music which should've been performed on YouTube or American Idol, as expertly judged by me. Or the paintings which have adorned so many of our walls.  Or the stories that only slightly resembled the Harry Potter plots. No matter what you do, don't EVER QUIT CREATING.
• finally, the tears you cried? I remember them. Vividly. Sometimes they were loud. Dramatic. Other times, they were quiet, meek. Too often, I didn't feel you wanted my compassion, either out of embarrassment or your straight-out toughness. But I forced it on you anyway. And I prayed more urgently for your peace. Mothers are meant to be cried on. Forever. Set me up on Snapchat again before you leave for college so I can be ready for your tears.

Proud can not begin to describe how I feel about you, Daughter.  Your intelligence, your beauty, your kindness and your wisdom will guide you to the stars. I am sad you will be moving out of the house, but I can't help but be excited for you. How can I not? This is what we have raised you for–to make your imprint on this earth–or beyond if you choose. It seems you've been ready since you were six...I think we can finally let you go.

Well, sort of. You can leave, but we'll never let you go.

Love always,

Mom