You Are My Sunshine
Another Letter to the Future Version of My Son
Monday, August 10, 2020
Dear Son,
As you lay here sleeping this morning, crashed out on the couch next to my recliner, I wanted to capture how I am feeling at this moment; to preserve it for eternity because you deserve to know it.
You are so special to me. You are the greatest gift to my lifetime. The greatest addition to my existence. Next month, you will turn ten years old. One decade of living. And during those ten years, you have given me the happiest moments of my life. You have caused me to realize the true meaning of love. You have been my favorite human being on this entire planet. And you continue to be. There is no-one I cherish more than you.
It sounds silly, but the fact remains true: You are my sunshine. You make me happy, even when the skies of my life are gray. I hope you always realize how valuable your existence has been to my life. As the song goes, you’ll never know just how much I love you.
I wish and hope for you all the finest moments life can possibly offer. I hope people treat you with kindness and respect throughout your life. You deserve it. Not just because you are my son, but because you are one of the most positive human beings I have ever encountered. You don’t have a nasty bone in your body. I cannot recall a moment where you have said something mean or appeared to harbor resentment. It’s just not in your nature. You are simply good.
Realizing and considering this before, I asked you once, “Is there anyone at school that just bothers you? Someone you just don’t like?” You stared into the distance as you thought about it, and before you answered my question, the perplexed look on your face answered my question. When you replied, your words confirmed your body language.
“No… I can’t think of anyone.” After pausing, you continued, “I mean, there are times when people act certain ways that I don’t like, things that might irritate me, but that’s just an action. I don’t like something they do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like the person.”
This is nearly verbatim. You were eight at the time. And I was floored.
You are a better human being than me. Your distinctions serve you well.
You are such a loving kid. Such a patient kid. You listen to me and consider what I say, consider the lessons I attempt to teach. I realize how damn lucky I am with this. You allow me to be a dad when I need to be, and yet, you allow me the luxury of being your friend at the same time. I just enjoy your company.
The other night, as we took a nighttime walk so I could hit my daily step count (you doubled me that day, by the way), your presence was so peaceful. From the serene look on your face to your quiet moments of reflection, interspersed with fascinating questions and observations on the world around you; it’s captivating beyond words. And peacefully mesmerizing.
Life has been fairly stressful lately — unusually stressful, with the pandemic and the resulting chaos — but these moments with you just give me the gift of perspective and removal from the madness. I hope you understand and remember how grateful I am for this.
Just feeling your little hand reach up and grab mine as we walk down an empty, quiet street is such a magical feeling. Since your hand is not as little as it once was, the reminder is immediate that these moments of your childhood are temporary and fleeting. Your ease and sense of safety is so precious. I don’t want to miss a moment, so I am yanked from whatever troubled thoughts that may be swirling in my mind and delivered back into this one moment in time, with you. My nine-year-old for one more month. My single-digit-kid for one last month.
Looking back on the past couple days, I can think of so many moments where you allow me to enjoy life. Being so easy going, we have developed a tradition where you let me read the last few chapters of a book you’ve been engrossed in; the good part. And you hang on every word, as the book enters the most climactic pages and I try to slowly deliver the finale. Watching you so absorbed yesterday, I jumped up and read each line as if I was an actor on stage. Feeling silly as I write these words recalling that moment, I realize I didn’t feel silly in that moment. Why is that? Because of you. Once again, your own immersion in the present moment proves contagious. From your example, I find myself at ease to improv, to be silly without self-censor.
I write this all to capture my state of being. As life moves on, memory needs assistance. These moments are too special to risk losing. I hope you don’t forget sitting on our living room floor, helping me organize papers for scanning and shredding. I hope you never forget setting up the trays as I “cook” dinner; our favorite: baked beans, Mac n Cheese, and steamed broccoli with barbecue sauce. I giggle when you sincerely compliment me on my cooking skills and recommend I try out for one of those top chef shows. I smile as I type these words.
You have to understand: in these moments, there is nowhere I’d rather be. Nothing I’d rather be doing. This is the profound happiness and moments of serenity you bring to me.
And this morning, before the week gets started, I hope we can finish one more chapter of Eragon with breakfast. (Book 3, to be precise… Brisingr.) Again, I write these words to capture these memories as well as my contemporaneous appreciation of your existence. I hope you read these letters again, as an adult, and have your own appreciation of what a special, remarkable child you have been to your dad. Thank you for being so awesome. Thank you for lighting my world. You are truly my sunshine.
I don’t give a shit how sappy this is, either. Unabashed pride, in you, I have. Stay true to yourself, my son. Stay silly, and I hope one day, you too can speak like Yoda.
Love you, I do.
Dad
