The day came.
And now, you are a teenager.
You tell me, that you don't feel older, that it's just another day, but not for me.
Today, is the day that I look at you with so much love, extraordinary amounts of admiration and a heart bursting with hope...that you won't be able to imagine, until you have a child of your own.
You are my first. Which means that you're the first kid to become a teen in our abode.
Look at you...
I mean, seriously, look at you. You're incredible.
You and I are now officially, the same height: five feet, eight inches tall. You have perfectly white, straight teeth (not without some gnashing of them during the braces phase), a gorgeous smile, big bright, curious, blue eyes (that refuse to wear contacts, glasses for you until the end), and a heart that is always, always looking out for the underdog.
And a brain. Holy cow, Sam. You're wicked smart. This year alone in seventh grade saw you placing in the school Spelling Bee to take you to the big Catholic schools one on Saturday. You made it to the Geography Bee. You got an Honorable Mention at the Science Fair. And even though it's not your favorite, and kills you to wake up at o'dark thirty, you're soaring through advanced math.
You are still a voracious reader, in love with science fiction...so much so, that you created your own Dramatic Interpretation speech piece, focused on the pros and perils of a world ruled by immortality.
And years later, you are still a boy scout. So much so, that you have some kind of sub degree mummy sleeping bag, camping stove, hiking boots, geared up back pack craziness for winter outings, and hopes of completing your Eagle Scout (which is really freaking hard).
You take your faith seriously. You are an altar server and even though it can be nerve wracking or scary to serve mass in front of the whole school, at a wedding, or even on Christmas, you do so with grace, and ask me how I liked the homily.
You know me, from time to time, I drop the f-bomb and say, it's okay, you can say it if you want. To which you reply, "That's not why you send me to a good Catholic school," and then, you tell me that you're known among the middle school boys as the kid who doesn't cuss or make fun of others. That fills me with a level of love that I can't describe.
On most days, if given the choice, you'd be at home or with friends playing Magic the Gathering or Dungeons and Dragons. You like strategy games and fun that includes other people, no matter who they are or their ability.
And even though your sisters bug you, and you know that you'll never have a brother, you are good to them, in between the interrogation/beat-up sessions. You help Kate (10) with her homework, when she's feeling overwhelmed, and you let Claire (7) win at your video game or play the piano with you.
Aw man, Sam. You're growing up and I don't have words for it, because I've never done this before.
I've never been a mom to a teenager. And so, part of me wants you to stop, so that we can just keep playing board games and eating ice cream and joking around...while another part of me wants you out of the house so I don't have to keep reminding you to brush your teeth, put on deodorant, flush the toilet, hang up the wet towels in the bathroom, throw away the candy wrappers off your bed and put your shoes in the bucket.
They said it would happen. The days would be long and the years would be short. We're half way done with seventh grade, only one more year of middle school and then, you're off to more independence than you can imagine in high school and college.
So, before you go, here's what I want you to know.
I am so unbelievably, wildly, insanely, off-the-charts proud of who you are as a person. You are kind. Period. And that is how I know that Jesus is alive in the world. You have unequivocally decided that it is more important to sit with the kid who doesn't have a friend than it is to be popular. You're not interested in making a million friends. You just want to be one, to the one, who doesn't have one. Thank you for teaching me the value of that.
You are strong. I am certain that you inherited this moral fortitude from your father. You know who you are and what you stand for. Keep that near and dear to your heart. When the chips are down, don't cave. Stand firm in what you know to be true. Your belief in God. What is right. And, the high road. You can't go wrong.
You're learning this, as I think every teenager is...but here it is...take the time to put in the work. When you commit to a person, a team or a project, make your name count for something. Even if you don't want to or you don't know what you're doing, keep trying until you do. Don't be afraid to roll up your sleeves. In the end, it will be worth it.
Never stop trusting in the power of your faith when times and people are uncertain. When in doubt, fall to your knees. Thank God for what you've been given (which, man alive, is so much, my son) and thank God for what you can not see today, but trust will bear fruit tomorrow. Gratitude and hope. Two powerful gifts.
Finally, when you are in doubt, and you will be, if I am not with you, re-read this. And if I am, call me and I will remind you of your worth and your capability and the promise of your life.
You are extraordinary, Sam. I am so, so blessed to call you my son.
Happy 13th Birthday,
Love, Mama
