My son,
You are presently 5 years and 2 months old. In many ways, I marvel at how grown up you are, how adult is our relationship - maybe in its quality of mutuality, respect, compromise (?). At the same time, you are a little boy, lovely in so many dimensions, profoundly "normal" in the ways that spare me much of the worry and concern levied on other families. You have friends who you like and who seek you out; you play by yourself with an imagination bigger than the universe; you seek opportunities to explore and engage in your world; you are deeply attached to your family and have a clear sense of familial loyalty. You recognize things that are for your own good and are often very flexible when circumstances are inconsistent or unpredictable. You play with words, looks for ways to be funny, and look for opportunities to make others laugh. Your observations are often spot on and your wisdom oftem alarmingly disarming. You can be deeply generous as you spontaneously create love notes for your friends and family, set aside toys for other children, invite your sister into your games which, as a 21 month old, she evidently attends to in a different manner than you. It often feels like a true privilege and honour to be a participant in your growth and development.
All this said, there are times (which feel all too frequent, really) when I feel I don't quite measure up to you or your needs: when I am impatient, angry, too tired to respond to you with kindness and mercy. There are times when I feel perplexed or uncertain how to proceed, how to parent. You are my first child and I genuinely find myself figuring it out as I go along. Luckily you, as most children, are more resilient than my blunderings, more forgiving than my errors.
What I guess happens to most parents also happens to me, as I too am a deeply "normal" parent - sometimes worried, often unsure, and, at the worst of times, questioning who you are and pessimistic about who you will become. This is our unfortunate tendency to project into the future, to imagine worst case scenarios, to think that because, at 5 years old, when you are ornery or belligerent or selfish or dishonest, that you will grow to be callous, cruel, malicious, alone. The thing is, though, that these things are not connected, because the aggravating behaviours of 5 year olds are about building confidence, and the heartbreaking behaviours of the maligned 35 year olds are often rooted in a lack of confidence, a poverty of belonging. In addition, the behaviours of children are so often so closely linked to their development needs - for independence, for connection, for belonging, for differentiation. You are you, you have always been you. And still, that you continues to grow and change. (Likewise, the me I am changes too, although at this point, far more slowly and less noticeably!).
Why I find myself writing this letter and thinking of you in this light, my love, is because this past week I've found my own back raised, my fangs exposed under a perceived threat to you, a judgment about who you are and a predetermination of who you will be. And this judgment is levelled because of you and my behaviours over the last months; behaviour that in your case I would consider entirely in the realm of normal and parenting that I would judge as doing its very best and that, in the big scheme of things, is pretty top echelon. I've found myself preoccupied and ruminating about this accusation that you are mean, rude, cruel, unkind and that this is the produce of my poor parenting and that your future life track is in jeopardy. (As I write this, I find the conclusion drawn all the more preposterous!) In addition to my discontent with the accuser's audacity and gall, I find myself more acutely watching you - with me, with your sister, at school, on the playground. I'm watching to see if you are those dreadful things, asking others questions in an attempt to discover if indeed you have some dark nature to which I have been oblivious. In turning stones, I'm still finding only a lovely 5 year old child, innocent and earnest.
What have I learned in these last days? That you remain you, that you should stay as you are. I've learned too that you will make mistakes (as do I) but that the point isn't their absence, it's how we respond to them and what we learn from them. And I've discovered that if you are being threatened, I'll stand up for you, unconditionally, and I will be willing to forsake friendships, give up the riff raff who think they are better than you. My commitment, my loyalty, my duty to you is to keep you connected to those who are kind, loving, accepting, supportive. These people, in your world, are legion. And I've learned that the universe of critique of others' parenting is rife with pitfalls, difficult and uncharted terrain.
My promise to you, my son, is to be in your corner always, to believe the best in you, to do my best to help guide you and nurture you as you grow, including helping you learn from the countless times you will stumble and fall. And when you lose your temper, when you say unkind things, when you lash out at those around you or patently refuse to comply, I will do all that I can to respond with patience, a listening ear, a consistent hand, a loving embrace. Lots of love, predictable boundaries, and tons of curiosity, compassion and teaching. If you'll allow me, I'll do all I can to provide you with these most essential things.
I love you, son. You are my delight.
Mom.
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