(no subject)
I have a tradition with my kids, whenever they've had major life events (eg, Bar/Bat Mitzvah's, graduation, etc) I've written a very personal letter to them, which - I hope - they'll keep and look at long after I'm gone, so that they can remember me as well as their lives when they were young.
My older son graduates this month from Cornell. I have to work on something very good for him. I'll start it with these memories of his childhood.
When you were 3 years old, your mother and I took you to Hawaii. You travelled a lot with us in those days, she was a travel agent I was able to take time off work without being in contact every day. We had a lot of fun with you, you were cute and precocious and I loved to show you off.
So one day you and I were outside of the room, playing on the lawn and roughhousing a little bit. For some reason I started a game where you would stand in front of me and I'd jump over your head without touching you. You were scared and thrilled, and laughed and kept telling me to do it again. After about a dozen times, I got pretty tired and said, "okay, that's all." So you said, "Daddy? Now I wanna jump over you!" So I just laughed and said, "Oh. O-kay," with a smirk on my face. So you stood in front of me and jumped. And did a helmet-spear right into my nuts. It hurt llike hell but I was laughing so hard I fell over, cracking up.
When you were 5, we went to Seaside, OR for a week's vacation. Your sister demanded a lot of attention at that time, so I took you on a walk into the city. Believe it or not, there was a time before temporary tattoos were invented...and this was when they first came out, and practically no one knew about them.
So we walked around and came by a shop where they had these press-on tattoos. I took you up to the window and, an evil thought in my head, asked you which one you thought was the scariest. "That one," you said, pointing to one with a skeleton engulfed in flames, a dagger going in one eye and out the other. "You like that one?" I asked, "Want me to get it for you?" Tough question for a 5 year old.
So we come walking back to the motel, saying nothing. Your mom decides you need to change your shirt for dinner, takes off your t-shirt and screams: "What is that? Where did that come from? You have a tattoo???!!" Me (very mildly): "Well, he wanted it. What's the big deal?" "YOU GET A TATTOO FOR A 5 YEAR OLD BECAUSE HE WANTED IT? ARE YOU HIS FATHER OR ARE YOU 5 YEARS OLD TOO? WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?" My son, now pissing himself laughing, explains that it's a temp. She didn't speak to me for a couple of hours, but it was still pretty damn funny. And of course, he was the most popular kid in kindergarten that fall, the cool one with the scary tattoo...
Finally, there was that beautiful fall weekend day when I took you to Starbucks, I think you were about 9 years old. We sat outside, me sipping my latte, and you working on your no-foam kid's cocoa. We chatted a bit about this and that, and the tenor of the conversation became somewhat intimate, as often happens between fathers and sons. "This is nice, dad." "Yeah, it's kinda nice to be just the two of us, we don't get to do this very often." "Dad?" "What is it, son?" "Well, you know sometimes I get mad at you when you give me consequences or get mad at me?" "Sure, that's normal. I don't expect you to like everything I do. Why, what about it?" "Well, I used to pretend I had a time machine and I'd go back to when you were younger than me and I'd beat you up." *very long silence* "Um. I'm glad we don't have guns in the house."
My older son graduates this month from Cornell. I have to work on something very good for him. I'll start it with these memories of his childhood.
When you were 3 years old, your mother and I took you to Hawaii. You travelled a lot with us in those days, she was a travel agent I was able to take time off work without being in contact every day. We had a lot of fun with you, you were cute and precocious and I loved to show you off.
So one day you and I were outside of the room, playing on the lawn and roughhousing a little bit. For some reason I started a game where you would stand in front of me and I'd jump over your head without touching you. You were scared and thrilled, and laughed and kept telling me to do it again. After about a dozen times, I got pretty tired and said, "okay, that's all." So you said, "Daddy? Now I wanna jump over you!" So I just laughed and said, "Oh. O-kay," with a smirk on my face. So you stood in front of me and jumped. And did a helmet-spear right into my nuts. It hurt llike hell but I was laughing so hard I fell over, cracking up.
When you were 5, we went to Seaside, OR for a week's vacation. Your sister demanded a lot of attention at that time, so I took you on a walk into the city. Believe it or not, there was a time before temporary tattoos were invented...and this was when they first came out, and practically no one knew about them.
So we walked around and came by a shop where they had these press-on tattoos. I took you up to the window and, an evil thought in my head, asked you which one you thought was the scariest. "That one," you said, pointing to one with a skeleton engulfed in flames, a dagger going in one eye and out the other. "You like that one?" I asked, "Want me to get it for you?" Tough question for a 5 year old.
So we come walking back to the motel, saying nothing. Your mom decides you need to change your shirt for dinner, takes off your t-shirt and screams: "What is that? Where did that come from? You have a tattoo???!!" Me (very mildly): "Well, he wanted it. What's the big deal?" "YOU GET A TATTOO FOR A 5 YEAR OLD BECAUSE HE WANTED IT? ARE YOU HIS FATHER OR ARE YOU 5 YEARS OLD TOO? WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?" My son, now pissing himself laughing, explains that it's a temp. She didn't speak to me for a couple of hours, but it was still pretty damn funny. And of course, he was the most popular kid in kindergarten that fall, the cool one with the scary tattoo...
Finally, there was that beautiful fall weekend day when I took you to Starbucks, I think you were about 9 years old. We sat outside, me sipping my latte, and you working on your no-foam kid's cocoa. We chatted a bit about this and that, and the tenor of the conversation became somewhat intimate, as often happens between fathers and sons. "This is nice, dad." "Yeah, it's kinda nice to be just the two of us, we don't get to do this very often." "Dad?" "What is it, son?" "Well, you know sometimes I get mad at you when you give me consequences or get mad at me?" "Sure, that's normal. I don't expect you to like everything I do. Why, what about it?" "Well, I used to pretend I had a time machine and I'd go back to when you were younger than me and I'd beat you up." *very long silence* "Um. I'm glad we don't have guns in the house."