Dear 9-year-old,
It’s your 9th
birthday today and I’m away. You may not believe me, but I think I’m even
sadder about this than you are. You will have your birthday without me there.
People will sing happy birthday to you and they’ll make you smile. And your mom
and your sister will make you feel special. But I will be away.
I feel terrible about
this because more than any other day of the year, your birthday is the one day
where everybody celebrates YOU. And you are the most celebrate-able and
celebration-worthy person I know. Already. At 9.
If I had any choice –
any real choice – I’d be there. But I can’t, so instead I am writing you a
letter. And instead, I am going to pretend your birthday isn’t until March 9th,
when I’m back home. Okay?
I’ve written letters
and notes about you every year since you were born, and when I read back
through them I can remember who you were every year of your life. I dread the
time when I can’t do this anymore because it’s too embarrassing to you, and
your friends might see. So, I’ll wait until you tell me that. For now, I write.
You are a treasure. If
it’s even possible, you are more special now than all the years before. You are
so smart and funny, you make us shake our heads with awe at some of the things
you say and do. Like when we play Quiplash with you and you say something that
is completely inappropriate for a child to say but is spot on appropriate to
the situation. Or when we’re in the car and you ask a deeply insightful
question about something that happened that week, and we don’t even know how you
thought to ask. (You should always ask us the hard questions, and sometimes – “you should ask
your mom that” is the best you’re going to get from me.)
Amongst other accomplishments this year, you can remember it as the time when you started to get really adventurous with your eating. You had a jalapeno on a burrito. You tried (and liked) scallops. And
tacos and nachos and hot and sour soup (which you didn’t like) and other stuff
you wouldn’t have touched a year ago.
You have also continued to
be someone who will not give up once you’ve decided that you have to accomplish something.
This year, for example, it was cartwheels. And consuming every “Annoying
Orange” video there is (which was lots of fun for us too…Not!) And climbing
ropes, and crossing jungle gyms using only your arms, and rock climbing as fast
as you can… The best is when you get frustrated or hurt yourself, then dust
yourself off and try again right away. It blows my mind how persistent you are.
Also this year, you
encountered your first real bully. And we talked about what to do about it and
you handled it. More importantly, you could have gotten away from the bully altogether,
but that would have meant him “bullying someone else”, as you patiently
explained to us, and that would “just make it their problem – and that’s not
right.” So, you didn’t, and you handled it yourself. Unbelievable.
You told me a few days
ago that you think you might want to be an architect when you grow up because
a) you like structures and buildings, and b) you like the Architect in the Good
Place. Both are good reasons to choose what you want to be. I will add that
your unbelievably creative mind, your artistic talent, and your doggedness are
great things for an architect to possess too, but I like your reasons better. I
hope you keep examining everything you encounter in school, on television, and
in life to see if it speaks to you. You can be anything. Anything. Believing
that is the first step towards being it. (That said, I don't think you should become a Doctor until you can see or even think about seeing blood without getting completely freaked out).
I don’t like the way
the world and your age are inevitably conspiring to get between me and you.
I’ve seen your sisters start to go on sleepovers and on trips, to hang out with
friends instead of me, and eventually to go off to school and leave me behind. I
guess that will start happening with you too, soon. It will mean giving up some
of the time we spend together, but it will also mean seeing you become all that
you can. I guess that’s worth it. (And I’m still really close to your sisters
even if we’re not together every day, so I’m sure it will be the same with
you).
When it comes to
parents and children and spending time together, the most important song ever is Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. I heard that song when I was young,
and I swore that wouldn’t happen to me and my kids. Listen to it and you’ll
know what I mean. And yet, here I am – missing a birthday because of work.
Do
not for one minute believe that it means I think there is anything more
important than you. Nothing is more important to me and your mom than you and
your sisters. And right now – at 9 – while I still have you full-time, and
while you still need me (almost) full-time, you are the most important of all.
“When you coming home Dad? I don’t know when,
but we’ll be together then, Dad.” That’s what the song says. But this is not Cat's in the Cradle because I
do know when I’ll be home – and that’s tomorrow. I promise to give you
twice as many hugs and kisses then.
In the meantime, I hope you understand.
Love you and happy
birthday.
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