Retrospection and Introspection

Wednesday, September 11, 1991  8:15 AM

I didn’t count fingers and toes.  There were doctors and nurses to do that.  While the medical staff weighed, measured and fussed over you, I struggled to grasp the enormity of my responsibilities.

In those first moments I was humbled by the realization that everything you were going to be depended largely on how I lived my life, what examples I set for you, what experiences I shared with you.  I was filled with the overwhelming urge to tell you everything I knew, everything I felt, hoped and dreamed for you.  I wanted to shield you from the world, to protect you and nurture you.

And I was scared to death.

Eighteen years later I am once again filled with the same urge, as if I can somehow share my hard-learned life lessons with you in a way that will save you from needing to learn the same things.  Unlike eighteen years ago, I know that you march to the beat of your own drum, finding your way and learning your lessons, no matter how much “knowledge” I try to impart upon you.

Teacher and Student

You were my absent-minded professor – the brilliant but somewhat scattered child who was motivated by an internal force that none of us quite understood.  While you struggled as a mini-adult in a child’s body, I did my best to guide you without smothering you, advocate for you, encourage you and when warranted, hold you accountable.

At times parenting a child who was near genius was not easy.  You questioned, challenged and sometimes demanded.  You were persistent, insistent and undaunted by challenges and obstacles.

You were a sponge for knowledge, but I was not always the teacher.  More times than I expected, I was the student.  And there is much that I learned from you.

I learned that a baby’s laugh is contagious.  I learned that neither grape juice spilled on a white carpet nor Sharpie Wall Art is the end of the world.  I learned that scissors + night before Picture Day = Funny 3rd grade picture.  I learned that love means saying I’m sorry and meaning it.  I learned that you can love someone unconditionally and still dislike their actions.  I learned that plans are great but you have to be prepared for detours.  And I learned that the requirements for parenting are love, flexibility, honesty, humility, patience and an unending supply of band-aids, kisses and hugs.

Missing Manual

Do you remember when I told you I misplaced your operating manual?  That I must have missed that part in the “OMG! I’m a Parent. WTH do I do now” book?  In case I didn’t set the record straight, there is no manual.  You were there for the hardest lessons in my life – fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants parenting and  learning how to fail miserably, yet somehow recover with honesty, grace and dignity.

There are many times that I failed over the years.  I haven’t always been the best parent.  I did my best, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.  So I apologized, tried to correct the wrong, and forged ahead.  No matter how many times I blew it or we ended up in conflict, you were forgiving and loving.  You have a beautiful soul, son.  Don’t ever lose that.

We lived our lives differently than most of the families I know.  We were a bit unconventional at times, doing things like having ice cream for dinner and then dinner for dessert, or taking a day off work and school to go to a race or a ball game.  We celebrated silliness and sarcasm, using humor as our coping mechanism when things were a bit rough.  Sometimes I wondered if it was too much, if I was doing it wrong, this parenting thing.  But when I look at you now as a young adult, I can’t imagine living our lives any other way.

About this day

Eight years ago on your 10th birthday our nation suffered unimaginable tragedy when terrorists stole our illusion of safety and security.  The loss of lives at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania is still fresh in our minds, our nation still healing from the devastation.  For two years after you refused to celebrate your birthday on this day.  You said you felt it was disrespectful to celebrate when so many died, and so many still suffered.  I was in awe of your maturity, but also saddened.

On your 13th birthday, you said it was okay to celebrate your birthday on 9/11.  You said it was time to honor those who died by living life fully.

Hopes, Dreams and Possibilities

As I held you in my arms for the first time, I was filled with ideas, plans and visions for your life.  I had it mapped out, planned and even diagrammed.  I had to learn that life doesn’t allow us the luxury of such things.  You have to go with the flow because, well, stuff happens.

So while I had all these hopes and dreams for you, many of which didn’t equate to what you had in mind for your life, you have far exceeded any hope or dream I had envisioned.  You are intelligent, loving, kind, generous, loyal and compassionate.  I am proud of the child you have been and the man you are becoming.

There is nothing more I can say or do.  You are who you are because you took the tools I gave you and fashioned the unmolded clay into a uniquely gifted young adult. I have guided you to this point and now it is time for me to let you continue on your path, independent of my influence.  I am thankful for having walked alongside you and excited to see where you will go from here.

Happy 18th Birthday, Son.

All my love,

Mom

About Everybody’s Free (to wear sunscreen)

In June 1997 Mary Schmich, columnist for the Chicago Tribune, wrote a column entitled, “Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young“.  In her “Guide to Life for Graduates” she channeled her inner graduation speaker.  In 1999, Baz Luhrmann excerpted her words and put them to music.  Played at many graduations of the time, many have forgotten about this timeless advice.

Schmich’s words are as true today as they were over a decade ago, and serve as a reminder to all of us to cherish what is important and let go of the rest.

Share and Enjoy

Share and Enjoy