Dear Larkin,
Tomorrow is your first day of “big kid” school, and you
are so completely nonplussed about the milestone. I, however have been wringing
my hands and worrying for weeks. Are you ready? Will you be happy? Will you
make friends? How much trouble will you get into for your non-stop talking? You’d
think I’d be ready for this. You’ve been in daycare since you were two; it’s
not like you’re being pulled from the bosom of home and tossed out into the
world for the first time. But there is just so much I want you to know:
Try. I know it’s scary to learn something new, to try
something unfamiliar. But don’t let the fear of failure hold you back. Embrace
your mistakes and learn from them. Try, try, try. Before you know it,
everything that seemed impossible will have become second nature.
Look for those who are different than you. Whether that
means they don’t look like you, or are dressed in a way you aren’t used to, or
they laugh at different jokes, or maybe they never seem to laugh at anything at
all. Don’t be afraid of different. Different is surface. Chances are, you’ll find
common ground in no time.
Never ignore tears. You have the most gentle and tender
heart I know, and that is a GIFT. Your job is not to fix feelings. But if you
see someone sad or scared or lonely, reach out to them; offer a hug or a
helping hand. Better yet, just invite them to play with you and your friends.
Make sure the teacher knows someone is hurting. You never know what big feelings can be healed
just by someone else noticing they exist.
Be a leader. The masses are rarely going in the direction
you should follow. Stand up for who you are, embrace your differences, be proud
of what matters to you. And don’t worry if it takes you 25 more years to learn
this lesson – I’m still practicing myself. You’re already light years ahead of
me, in your ‘soldier’ backpack with the retro “The Flash” patch you picked out
for me to iron on, and your vintage metal lunchboxes. Enjoy the things that
make you different, whether it’s the fandoms you join or the morals and
religion you choose to follow. You do you, honey.
Remember that one true friend is more important than an
entire flock of fair weather followers. Treasure your friendships, be good to
your friends. You never know which people are destined to be in your life
forever, and there are no friends like the one who know every single
embarrassing story you’ve ever survived.
You won’t love every subject and every lesson you study.
But find your passion and follow it. Read everything that catches your eye. Ask
questions, ask for help. Raise your hand as often as possible; give the answer
whenever you know it. Let someone know when you don’t understand. There is never
any shame in that. Don’t try to coast by on being smart, son. Smart people don’t
always succeed – only hard workers.
Know that you are loved. Always. No matter what your
daily report looks like, or what grades you get on your report card. YOU. ARE.
LOVED. I will spend all day worrying about you and praying for you. Your family
has your back – we are all hoping and praying that you will do well, that you’ll
love learning as much 13 years from today as you do right now.
I can’t wait to hear all about your first day, weasel.
To the moon and back,
Mommy
******
Dear Lord,
I’m going to need your help getting through today. Let
the gods of waterproof mascara be on my side, please. Let me have faith in
Larkin, that he’ll be polite and respectful, that he’ll do his best, that he
won’t get hopelessly lost going to the bathroom down the hall.
Give him something to love about school. Let him find
something that makes surviving the “hard” subjects worth it. I’m just going to
ask: let him love learning. Give him the same love of books that you gave John
and I, if you will.
Give him the courage and confidence to always stand his
ground and believe in himself. Protect him from bullies, and insulate him from
their inevitable taunts. And if he ever becomes a bully himself, Lord, give him
someone to whup it out of him, because if they don’t – I WILL.
May he always talk to me from the backseat of the car or
in the quiet of his bedtime routine like he does now. May his heart always be an open book to me,
and may my words always be tender in return.
Guide him with your holy spirit and his parent’s sense of
humor, if you can figure out how to mesh those.
Let him know that he is loved. Let home always be his
soft, safe place. May his worries be small, his fears be slight, and his joys limitless.
Larkin is a gift, he’s a blessing. And he’s the coolest
kid I know. Thank you, God, for trusting us with him.
But… seriously. Don’t let him get lost going to the
bathroom, okay?
 |
| Daycare Graduation, 2015 |
No comments:
Post a Comment