My Dear Beloved Luke, It’s Monday morning June 2, 2014 and I’m sitting in an airport. I miss you. I always do when you’re not with me. Last night, just before you were falling asleep, I had my typical ‘man of the house’ and ‘protect your mother’ speech with you and, for the first time, your precociously astute 2 and a half year old mind realized it meant I was traveling the next morning. You began to cry and told me and your mother, “I’m sad because Daddy is leaving.” I want you to know that all the miles I travel and the work that I do are for you, your mother and your soon to be little brother. There isn’t a moment you’re not with me. I promise. You didn’t know it, but I snuck into your room and kissed and caressed your belly this morning. I know I could have woken you up, but the opportunity to see your precious little face in the twilight before I left was irresistible. Good news for mommy. You didn’t wake up… I’m not naïve enough to think that a time may come when you won’t miss me that way and long to be with me. That you’ll cry and be sad every time I go away. I know that a time will come when my jeans may not be the coolest, my music may suck and the things that I think are ‘hip’ will be retro in your mind. There may come a day when you’d rather hang with your friends than go fishing with dad and I want you to know that I will understand it but can’t promise I won’t wish it was the other way. It is with this in mind that I want to tell you about yesterday morning and preserve this currently vivid memory of the time we just had. Your mother had a much needed, scheduled pedicure with her friend yesterday and that meant we had a few hours together. What a time we had! First you went ‘pee pee in the potty’ like a big boy and we danced around the living room with our ‘bellies out’, as you like to coin having your shirt off. We loaded up the car and went to get gas and munchkins and you were so excited when I handed you the credit card to pay for both. Boy did you eat those chocolate munchkins fast! We played your favorite songs on the way to the park and I got a kick out of watching you dance through the rearview mirror. Every now and again, we’d make eye contact and you’d give me that smile and laugh I wish I could bottle up forever. And I can. That’s the beauty of memories son. They hold scents, sounds, feelings and emotions that never go away. When we got to the park, it was time to take out our ‘Cars’ bike with training wheels and you did a masterful job riding TWO MILES with your adorable little helmet on. Sure, you almost went off the path about 50 times, but I caught you every time and we sang nursery rhymes that echoed through the beautiful forest. Of course you were able to sense the gravity of your accomplishment and, with the car in view, said in a proud voice, “I can get some skittles, right daddy.” You did and you loved them son. Following this, I took you, as promised, to a playground. As usual, when we arrived at the playground and it caught your view, you screamed, in utter joy and excitement, “Pwaygwound!” You went down the really big slide this time multiple times, but this uneasy dad still caught you in his arms each time. Following our playground stint, I carried you across the road to a lake with a large waterfall at the dam. You stood in awe of the roaring water and I studied your observant eye realizing that the same feeling I get for the power and beauty of nature has been passed on to you. A cardinal sang in the distance, somewhat muted by the sounds of the water, and I asked, “Do you hear that Luke? That’s the call of a beautiful red bird. Do you know it?” You, confidently, “Cardinal daddy!” Deep down I know that you knew a cardinal was a red bird, but deep down I was also aware that the day will come that you may very well know bird songs better than me. Take that as a challenge young man. From there we found our way to the stream at the base of the dam and, as per usual, we through about a dozen rocks into the water. Boy you have some arm son! Fittingly, from there we stumbled upon a baseball field and, starting from home plate of course, we ran the bases together. It took us quite some time to make it from first base to home, but it didn’t matter since my announcing boastfully proclaimed that you had hit a colossal homerun to win game 7 of the world series. A couple of passersby watched us from a distance as we jumped up and down together arms in the air celebrating the victory. And here’s a bit of advice son. This is something I would have never done had it not been for your presence. As we grow older, we tend to care a bit more about what people think about us. What we wear. What we drive. How we act and who we befriend. The thing is, son, ‘cool’ is being happy with who you are and what and who you love. It’s not the music you listen to nor the clothes you wear nor the car you drive. Oh, and it’s certainly not how much money you have! I used to be afraid to disclose my ability to identify nearly any bird by sight or sound because it was ‘dorky’ or ‘nerdy’. As I grew older and learned this simple lesson, it enabled me to embrace the things I hid from the world for so long. Undoubtedly you will run into times in your life where you feel you need to make a decision based on what others will think of you. I challenge you to really think about why you’re making that decision. Oftentimes, it won’t be easy, but if you follow your heart and make decisions based upon what it says to you, you’ll find life will be happier for you. After we ran the bases it was time to go home and meet up with mommy. We again listened to your favorite songs and you danced in the back seat until the activity of the morning began to show on your precious face. You relaxed and began to nod off, but arrived home just in time to avoid an early nap and played gleefully on the deck until mommy came home. She did and, as usual, you ran down to the driveway to greet her and our time together came to a close. You might ask one day, “Why are you writing this dad?” The answer is rather simple. I’m not a perfect person and I’m certainly not a perfect father. I’m trying to learn but this isn’t something you can train for. But, what was perfect was this morning. You wanted to be with me and I with you. We wanted to do the things we did together. We laughed, we danced, we sang, we hugged, we kissed and we were, by all my vivid accounts, overwhelmingly goofy. It was perfect son. Just perfect. But time will pass and things will change. I know a time will come when going fishing with dad will take a back seat to many things. Again, I’m okay with this and I understand. But maybe, just maybe, you will have other plans and you’ll either stumble upon this some day or reread it and I’ll hear the seven greatest words ever: “Dad, do you want to go fishing?” I’m have and am going to say ‘no’ to you a lot son but here’s a promise: I’ll NEVER say no to this question. I love you son. In ways I only pray you come to learn some day. Dad.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Jun 2014 22:42:59 +0000
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