Life’s mysteries scrawled on a Valentine’s card
I have a highly sensitive document in my possession. I found it
the other night when I was organizing some bookshelves that hadn’t
been cleaned since about 1998.
It was a Valentine’s Day card, one of those that kids fill out
to give one another at school. It had hearts and a cute bunny on
one side, and the message,
”
Happy Valentine’s Day,
”
and a scrawled name on the other side.
Life’s mysteries scrawled on a Valentine’s card
I have a highly sensitive document in my possession. I found it the other night when I was organizing some bookshelves that hadn’t been cleaned since about 1998.
It was a Valentine’s Day card, one of those that kids fill out to give one another at school. It had hearts and a cute bunny on one side, and the message, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and a scrawled name on the other side.
The R looks like a spider. The O is not too bad. The two S’s are backward and lying down.
Put it all together, it spells ROSS. My eldest, now age 18, who just happens to be graduating from high school this evening.
I’ve been carrying it around like a precious object ever since. Which, in fact, it is.
By the looks of the writing, Ross was 4 years old at the time he scrawled his name on the valentine. That would make it from around 1995. It was probably done for preschool but for some reason didn’t get handed out. An extra, I guess.
It was stuffed in among books, schoolwork, Legos and other debris from childhood, just waiting for me to find it.
Every time I look at it, I get choked up. Not only that, it is beyond amazing. How in the world did my little boy grow up already? How did he move beyond a scrawled name to where he is now, a young man getting ready for the rest of his life?
It’s the mystery of growing up. I can’t wrap my mind around it.
I know, I know. I am far from unique. Just about every parent on the planet sighs and says, “Where did the years go? It just seems like yesterday …”
But it’s more than that for me.
I just can’t remember how he made those leaps, from forming his first letters to writing an English essay. The letters I remember well. The essay? Somehow he learned to do that without me helping all that much.
I remember reading him “The Cat in the Hat” and sounding out the words with him.
Now, he’s reading “1984” and “Frankenstein.” Just for fun.
And in some things he’s already far ahead of me. A long time ago, I was teaching him that two plus two equals four. Somehow, the years flashed by, and then he was taking trigonometry. Trigonometry! I never made it beyond Algebra II.
How did this happen? I have no idea.
Along the way, he became his own person. A good friend. A considerate person. An excellent student and a passionate follower of politics. (He can’t wait to vote in the presidential election.) A big guy, 6-foot-1 and wearing a size 14 shoe, but still with enough little boy in him to cuddle with his dog.
A tuba player. An actor. A singer and, at last, a reader. I see little bits of myself in him, but when you get down to it, he is his own creation.
And that’s exactly the way I wanted it to be.
When you get down to it, a person is a collaboration between his parents, him or herself, and the world at large. I guess I had a hand in it. If only I could remember back that far.
Somehow, he grew up. And I was there, but I can’t quite tell you how it happened. It’s a miracle.
There were a lot of books on those shelves that I cleaned out. “The Cat in the Hat,” for instance, and many more for beginning readers. Since we don’t need them anymore, I put them in my Goodwill box.
Finally, I am ready to give them up.
Except one.
I’ve got to hang on to “Goodnight Moon” for just a little while longer.
