A Letter to my Sons

To my dear boys,

God has made you strong, smart, unique, and so very handsome. Your strong wills and soft hearts are a paradox of perfection. Each one of you complete this family so well, and everyday we are so thankful that God has sent you to us.

Be good men like your Daddy. Work hard, and keep on practicing making the right choices. That way when you’re older, doing the right thing will come easy to you. Like today, when you knocked over the display of water bottles in the grocery store by accident. I saw you pick them back up, not because anyone told you to, but because it was the right thing to do. It’s the little things guys, keep working at it.

Be brave, but please also be safe. Smart men wear helmets, and seat belts, and parachutes. They take calculated smart risks, and they call their mom at the end of those risks to tell her that they’re ok.

Love your brothers, even when they make you lose the game, break your stuff, or eat the last coconut yogurt, leaving you with the old cherry flavoured one at the back of the fridge. Even then, love your brothers, they are, and will be your best friends for life.

Don’t ever stop being enthralled by good stories, superheros, and Star Wars. It’s good to have fun. I love when you ask me important questions about Batman, Thor, and The Flash, and how our conversations erupt into meaningful discussions of good and evil. I love how you have now mastered the phrase “light saber,” instead of “light saver.” Don’t lose your sense of wonder over the tiny things like spaceships and capes.

Please keep telling me that you love me ten times a day like you do; because one day, when you’re married to your sweet wife, that same verbal love will spill over naturally to her – as it should. She is going to love it.

Brace yourself, but in the future, when you have a house of your own, I’m going to come over and throw all of your decorative pillows on the floor. Then I’m going to jump on your couch. I’m going to leave cracker crumbs in your bed and sticky fingerprints on all of your light switches. We will laugh together, and it will be splendid, and we will practice the beautiful art of remembering and appreciating all things silly.

Remember what I’ve taught you, ok?

I taught you how to read.

I taught you how to burp talk a sentence.

I taught you how to tie your shoes.

I taught you put God first in all that you do.

I taught you to speak life and truth, about yourself and others.

You are a small army of mighty men and I love you so much. Don’t ever forget it.

– Mom