It’s not easy being the easy one, is it? You come second in a long line of boys, and you’ve always been the one we worry least about, because you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you know who you are, mostly, and you don’t ask for much. You mainly give. It’s all you’ve ever really done. Observed the world and given whatever it lacks.
But the danger in being the easy kid is that oftentimes you’re passed over, unless you do something really spectacular, because there are other kids who need their behavior curbed and redirected, constantly. Sometimes the frustration of that—the being passed over—comes out in your behavior, and I can tell you’re feeling forgotten. If you only knew. You could never, ever be forgotten, my son. You are a gift to us and to this world. But I know it’s not easy to understand that when you don’t get nearly as much attention as your 4-year-old twin brothers, who are always into mischief, or your 9-year-old brother, who is always badgering us about something, or your 15-month-old brother, who needs more care than the rest of you.
So, today, on your seventh birthday, I want you to know that I see you.
I see you. I do.
I hear you outside, speaking your gentle heart and your kind words to the girl the rest of the neighborhood boys called fat. I hear the way you defend your brothers, especially the flies-off-the-handle one, to all those kids who don’t always choose to be nice. I hear the way you join in and connect and befriend everyone who comes in our cul-de-sac for a game of soccer, and I feel so very proud that you are my son. I feel proud that you are not afraid to show your emotions and name them, that you are only seven and have the amazing ability to curb your actions even when overwhelmed by emotion, that you believe, so deeply, so truly, so contagiously, in everyone who has been put on this earth. What a magnificent boy you are.
It surprises me every time, those days I’m washing dishes and I hear your encouraging voice sneak up behind me, telling me I’m doing such a good job at washing dishes—something as simple and mundane as this. Something so…ordinary. It doesn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things, but you find ways to make it matter, because this is who you are. You find the small, overlooked things we do, and you make them shine like a full moon, like they are the most important things we do, because this is who you are. You watch your next-in-line brothers try to tie his shoes, and you can’t help but speak to him, urging him on, trying to teach him what you know, encouraging him to never give up, because this is who you are. You reach for your baby brother and fold him in your arms and let him stay there a while, and he lights up when you walk in the room (did you know that he lights up when you walk in the room? I have seen it), and it’s all a brilliant picture of your love and your help and your interconnectivity. This is who you are. What an exceptional boy you are.
You defuse fights between your brothers, and you take the time to smile at the discouraged one, and you help the twins put on their shoes when it’s time to go and they should be ready, and you never complain about any of it. Sometimes, of course, you get disappointed and sad, and that shows itself in the way you talk or the way you act or the way your eyes leak, but even then, you are sweet and kind and gentle. What a wonderful boy you are.
Because I see you, I have also seen your heart. I know that you feel a little shaky about your abilities. I see it in the way you ask if this is the right answer and the way you want to know if you’re doing it right before you’ve even begun and the way you feel frustrated with math and science and certain building toys before you’ve even begun. And so there is something more I must tell you.
It’s not easy being the second-in-line behind a brilliant brother. I know. I was the second-in-line behind a brilliant brother. You see how easily it comes to them, and you feel like somehow you’re missing something, because maybe it doesn’t come as easily to you. Maybe you actually have to really concentrate in order to figure out the right answer. Maybe you have to re-read the question a time or two and can’t just add it all up in your head. I used to feel that lack, too.
But the thing is, we are all gifted in different ways. So your brother is gifted in every subject. So maybe you’re only gifted in a few. But I have never seen a boy who could make a friend everywhere he went quite like you can. I have never met a 7-year-old who could find a way to encourage every single person he meets. I have never known a child to walk so surely into who he was made to be. And this is a gift, too.
So I just want you to know, today, that I see you for who you are. I love you for who you are. There is never anything you could do differently that would make me love you any more or any less. I love you as much as my heart could possibly love you. I feel as proud for you as I’ll ever feel for you, because of who you were born to be. I feel as privileged to be your mother as I’m ever going to feel, whether you become a superhero like you want, or you just remain an ordinary man who saves the world in quieter, gentler ways.
Sometimes it feels like you’re forgotten in the great mess of our lives, but I want you to know that you are never forgotten. I look forward to our times alone together with so much expectation and delight. I love sitting with you, talking with you, hearing your heart. I love listening to your fears and your dreams and what you did on the playground today and who said they’re mad at whom and how you really wish we could get a dog. I love watching you greet the world with love and hope and wonder, as if the smallest things—that lady bug crawling across the porch, that kite flying in the sky, those bubbles the wind pulls from the wand, still hold as much fascination as they did when you were 15 months old. Because you have taught us wonder, too.
Sometimes you doubt yourself. It’s no less than I have done, but, oh, it pains me when it is you. No mama wants her boy to doubt himself, but sometimes we all need the encouragement of another to feel like we have what it takes to do something hard and amazing and breathtaking. So let me be that voice now. You have a brilliant mind. You have a beautiful heart. You have as much intelligence and kindness and hope and love as you will ever need, flapping around inside you.
You are able. You are able to do whatever your mind decides to do. I know. I see you. I’ve watched you color a lovely picture, color reaching all the way to every side, and it was grander than any piece of art I’ve seen hanging in a gallery. I’ve watched you create grand towers out of those contraption planks, and there is not another like it anywhere in the world. I’ve watched you roller blade down the hill with perfect precision and balance, even though you were only six, and it is a feat to be applauded. There is no one quite like you.
So the next time you doubt whether you can do your math homework or you doubt that you know the right thing to do when two of your friends are having an argument or you doubt whether you’re quite as brilliant as your older brother or quite as dogged as your next-in-line brother, I want you to know that you are who you are, and who you are is glorious. Marvelous. Breathtaking.
Rest in your own abilities. Run your own race. Be who you are.
You are light in the darkness. You are everything good and beautiful. You are a magnificent wonder. I appreciate the person you are, and I can’t wait to see how you take this world by storm and infuse it with joy. Because I know you will.
I love you as much as I possibly could. Happy birthday.
