Five years ago you slid into our lives on a hot and humid summer day. You stared at us with those big eyes I knew would stay brown from the very beginning, and I fell immediately and deeply in love.
We spent those first few nights just the two of us, because your daddy was gone and your older brothers were sleeping. And at first I was terrified of that alone-time, but now, looking back, I’m so thankful we had those lonely hours and lazy mornings. I got a solid Mama’s boy out of them.
Now you are growing up. Five years old. In another six weeks you will head off to school, like your older brothers ahead of you, and I will feel the hole in our home like it lives in me, an ache all through my bones. Yet another one, off to kindergarten.
How I wish that time did not fly so fast, that I could keep you here with me for just a while longer. Just a moment. Just a day. Just a year or two or fifteen. This, though, is one more step along the road to freedom.
I am not yet ready to let you go.
Life doesn’t ever ask if we’re ready. It just marches on.
You have always been a sweet, charming, hilarious little boy, except when you get in trouble. Then you hide. Then you retreat into your own safe place. Then you don’t want to face the failure.
You know what, son? You’re not alone in that hiding place. Because I know. I know how scary it is to admit you’ve done something wrong. To admit you’ve failed, just this smallest bit. To see what waits on the other side of admission.
I used to hide, too. Back when I was your age, back when I was older, back when I was a full grown adult, about to get married. I used to pretend that I never made mistakes, that I always only did good. I tried so hard to be perfect.
This is a losing game, love. I want you to learn that sooner than I did.
Sometimes we feel the need to hide because we believe we won’t be loved if we’re not perfect. Sometimes we think our mistakes define who we are. Sometimes we’re afraid of the consequences of those mistakes.
Before you go to school, where rewards and punishments have a way of telling you who you should be, I want you to know this in all the deepest places:
Bad decisions don’t make you bad.
It’s easy to forget this, because of the people at the other end of our mistakes.
Sometimes they make us feel stupid for thinking that could ever have been a good idea. Sometimes they’ve had a rough day and our bad decision and its ripple effect is just one more notch on the line of the day’s disappointments. Sometimes what they say, the way they make us feel, how they react instead of respond, can make us start to believe we’re bad. Like we should be better, know better, do better.
That we are a disappointment, through and through.
I want you to know you’re not. I want you to know that there is absolutely nothing on this earth you could do, as horrible as it may be, that would make me or your daddy love you any less. I love you because you are here, because you are you, because you are mine, at least for this short time.
You are a good boy who sometimes forgets who he is. When you forget who you are, you lash out at that annoying little brother. When you forget who you are, you bang your feet against the blinds because I won’t let you go downstairs to play during Quiet Time. When you forget who you are, you bury your face in a couch so you don’t have to see your brother crying because you said you didn’t want to be his friend anymore.
But every time you do something you know is wrong, or you act impulsively instead of cautiously, or you lash out in anger, I know the truth: You’re better than those mistakes. You have forgotten who you are, and it’s my job to help you remember.
So, as you prepare for a career in public school, I want you to know that the days you bring home your red folder, and the behavior chart has a green smiley face that says you behaved well, we are going to celebrate.
But the days you bring home a behavior chart with a yellow face or a red note scrawled across today’s square, we are still going to celebrate—because those are the times we get to remind you who you are. Those are the times we get to speak life into your broken places. Those are the times we get to teach and steer and love in a way that is more than words.
Those are the times we get to say:
Bad decisions don’t make you bad.
Bad behavior doesn’t make you bad.
Bad thoughts don’t make you bad.
Who we are changes what we do, but what we do doesn’t change who we are.
We get really good at punishing ourselves when we’ve done something wrong. We get good at analyzing our motivations and concluding that we’re just bad people. We get good at wishing we could just be better.
It’s not an easy habit to break.
So it’s important to remember this:
Who are we without all the armor covering our weak places? Who are we when we fail? Who are we when we forget our identity?
We are still worthy people.
That will never change.
Hear me, son. THAT WILL NEVER CHANGE.
As we come up on your fifth birthday, I want you to know, yet again, that your daddy and I love you as much as we possibly could. We are in your corner, always. We are waiting with great anticipation to see who you become in these years to come, because who you are is already amazing.
Happy birthday, love, May your next year be filled with opportunities to remember that what you do doesn’t change who you are.
