at the beach after high school graduation 1973
W June 12, 2013
I remember bringing you home from the hospital. How breakable we thought you were, how worried I was that surely people would find out how little I knew about raising a kid. How daunting and exciting and scary it was all at the same time.
I remember how fast you grew in those first few months and years. And people would say “it goes so fast.” I thought at the time, how long can these early years last, diapers, food all over your face, why are you crying?
What do these people know about fast, I thought?
But it did go fast, didn’t it? I remember your first day of school, and now it’s your last.
I remember your days at the beach, the ditch was your playground and anybody’s food and treats were fair game. You’re wonderfully goofy excitement at Christmas. Your table decorations at Thanksgiving. Lucky the new puppy.
“He’s lucky to have us," you told the vet on his first trip.
It wasn’t my idea to have a kid. It was more your mom’s, and as with most, but particularly yours, they know best. Nothing has meant more to me than these 18 years. I know it hasn’t been perfect always. But it’s been lovely. And challenging and rewarding and filled with new things to consider as we’ve all gotten older.
At the end of the day, your mom and I are so proud of you. The gentleman you’ve always been, the sensitive soul. How you can relate to and engage both the old (Mrs Jaeger and your grandmother) and the young (the kids at camp, the homeless after school). You have an independent spirit and style, not surprising I guess with a nod to your DNA.
This is a great new chapter for you, for all of us. I know we will miss your daily presence. Growing up means going your own way now, and more and more you will move on to your new life. A life that will be made at your direction, paths you will choose.
I would love to give you a lot of advice, but kids get impatient around the idol rants of adults who think their age is expertise. And as you know, our own lives are often works-in-progress, sometimes sadly filled with miscues and stuff we can’t do over. You however were not a miscue. You remain the great experience that hasn’t changed since that nervous day we brought you home.
Soon you will live on your own. You will answer mostly to yourself, so be true to yourself. Think about what you love, and make that the pursuit of your life. If you love your work, it will never seem like work. Be a good friend, and you will have good friends. Listen. Look around. Learn about how you see. Write down your thoughts. Be driven, passionate. Be always good to others. Recover and start again when you fall.
Forgive when you need to and when it’s the hardest.
Get exercise. Value what you have. The ability to run and play and read and learn are blessings not given to all. Keep in mind how fortunate you are. Remind others.
You have been a good son, and a good friend. I look forward to all the new chapters, and bearing witness to what you do next. I love you very much. Your mom and I are very proud parents, and we feel exactly as you did talking about your new puppy years ago…lucky to have you. Let’s continue the love and respect. Go out and make your good way.
love, Dad